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THE EMERALD OF 
THE INCAS 








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THE EMERALD OF 
THE INCAS 

A STORY OF THE PERUVIAN SIERRAS 


BY 

CHARLES NORMAND 
Translated from the French by S. A. B. Harvey 
Illustrated by L. H. Smith and S. B. Kite 




NEW YORK 

DUFFIELD & COMPANY 

1917 





Copyright, 1917, by 
Duffield & Co. 


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NOV - I 1917 


©Cl. A 47 6 887 

“WO \ , 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. The Adventures of a Night- 

Watchman 3 

II. A Disagreeable Excursion 10 

III. “Long Live the Inca Papa- 

Capac!” 17 

IV. “Find the Emerald!” . . 28 

V. The Abduction of Candida 41 

VI. The Senora’s Army ... 51 

VII. Lost in the Snows of the 

Crucero 63 

VIII. Inca or God-Father . . 73 

IX. The Anger of Inti-Churi . 93 

X. The Inca’s Confession . . 100 

XI. The Battle of the Plaza- 

Manor 106 

XII. The Miraculous Escape of 

Si-Sing 119 

XIII. Si-Sing as Chef de Cuisine 130 

XIV. A Chinaman Among the 

“Rabonas” 138 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER PAGE 

XV. In Which We Again See 

Candida 145 

XVI. Si-Sing Meets Senora Bus- 

TAMENTE 1^3 

XVII. At the Entrance to the 

“Holy Quebrada” . . . 159 

XVIII. The Soul of Manco-Capac 164 
XIX. The Eve of the Sacrifice . 169 

XX. Poor Candida! 178 

XXI. Rescued by Papa-Capac . 187 

XXII. The Mysterious Stairway 192 

XXIII. The Subterranean Temple 

and the Sacred Emerald 197 

XXIV. The Supreme Expiation . 203 
Epilogue 212 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


Two Young Girls from Among the Priestesses of the 

Sun Modestly Advanced Frontispiece 

It Was No Longer There — the Umbrella Had Disap- 
peared Facing p. 8 


It Was an Ancient War of Races that Was Being 

Fought Out on This Secluded Battlefield ... “ 112 

On! On! Through the Wild and Unknown Region the 
Condor Has Never Quitted the Head of the 


Column ** 170 

Intoxicated with Joy, Papa-Capac Seized the Jewel 

with a Cry of Triumph “ 204 

Soon a Beam Was Thrown Across the Chasm, and a 
Rope Suspended from It “ 


208 



THE EMERALD OF 
THE INCAS 



























































\ 











































THE 

EMERALD OF THE INCAS 


CHAPTER I 

THE ADVENTURES OF A NIGHT-WATCHMAN 

It was ten o’clock at night. The village of 
Tarayaqui, situated at a height of nine thousand 
feet in the Peruvian Andes, seemed plunged in 
deep sleep, as Si-Sing the Chinaman stood for a 
moment on the threshold of his cabin, prepared 
to start on his usual nightly rounds. 

At the time of our story, Si-Sing occu- 
pied the position and discharged the duties 
of a Superintendent or Manager. He was em- 
ployed, under the direction of the Engineer, 
Colonel Bustamente (who was absent at the mo- 
ment), in overseeing the workmen who were la- 
bouring on the construction of a railroad that was 
to run from Puno on Lake Titicaca, through 
Tarayaqui, to Cuzco, the ancient Capital of Peru 
before the Spanish Conquest. 

3 


4 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

The task laid upon Si-Sing was by no means 
an easy one. The men working on the road 
formed a restless, mutinous population, much 
fonder of drink than of work, and were, more- 
over, of different and antagonistic nationalities. 
About one-third were Chinese Coolies, hired at 
Macao by the Peruvian government. The re- 
mainder were native Indians, recruited in the 
Sierras by the blows of the local authorities. The 
Chinese detested the Indians, and the Indians 
hated the Chinese. As for Si-Sing, in his capacity 
of Superintendent, he was execrated equally by 
both races, whom he scourged and oppressed with 
strict impartiality! 

He was a typical Chinaman of about thirty; 
round as an apple, and yellow as a pat of but- 
ter. In accordance with his Chinese ideas of 
dignity, he never stirred out of his home without 
kaving in his hand an enormous red umbrella, 
and on his nose a pair of large spectacles, rimmed 
with copper. This evening he carried in addi- 
tion a lantern, made in Chinese fashion of oiled 
paper, inside of which a tallow candle burned 
dimly. 


THE ADVENTURES OF A NIGHT-WATCHMAN 5 

The business of a night-watchman is at no 
time a cheerful one; but Si-Sing, as he stepped 
into the street, thought it had never seemed less 
enjoyable. Every light in the village had disap- 
peared, and so had the stars; great flakes of 
snow, — as yet but few in number, — floated wan- 
dering through the air, like the scouts that pre- 
cede the great battalions; and an icy wind, 
coming down from the “c err os” or mountain sum- 
mits, brought tears to his eyes, as it pinched and 
nipped his fat cheeks. 

For a second he hesitated, — but it was only 
for a second. It was so delightful and warm 
under the bed coverings of soft llama’s wool 
which he had just left, and which still kept the 
shape of his plump person ! . . . But he had a 
timely recollection that, if the Senor Bustamente 
was absent, his wife was still in Tarayaqui; and 
everyone about the yard and the shops knew that, 
under the Senora’s administration, a neglect of 
duty, — no matter how slight, — would not be 
viewed as a jest! 

Si-Sing had, like the celebrated “Panurge” a 


6 THE EMERALD OF THE fNCAS 

strong, natural distaste for corporeal punish- 
ment. And a wholesome dread of the chastise- 
ment which he himself dealt out so liberally to 
others, proved stronger than his love of comfort, 
and so, making the best of a disagreeable neces- 
sity, he started out. 

Nobody was to be seen. All the taverns, or 
“ pulperias ” in the village, — and they were not 
few, — were closed. Not a glimmer of light fil- 
tered through the cracks of their mud walls. It 
was evident that his orders regulating the drink- 
ing-places had been rigourously obeyed. In the 
vicinity of the church there was the same quiet, 
the same silence. In the barracks erected around 
the square, under the shadow of the belfry, his 
compatriots lay snoring, and dreaming of the 
“Yellow River,” or the “Blue River” of 
China . . . there was nothing here to disturb the 
public tranquility. 

It is true that in turning somewhat carelessly 
a sharp corner of the street which led towards the 
Indian quarter, Si-Sing caught his feet in a rope 
which had been cleverly stretched across the path 


THE ADVENTURES OF A NIGHT-WATCHMAN 7 

on a level with the ground, — and as a con- 
sequence fell headlong into a filthy pool just be- 
yond. He rose anathematizing the name of 
“Buddha” — but, beyond this, considered it an 
incident not worth his notice. 

The Chinese Coolies had accustomed him to 
this sort of petty revenge, which accorded so well 
with their national character. Si-Sing had little 
fear of his own countrymen, knowing the small 
likelihood of any open revolt among them. 

His fears were all reserved for the Indians, 
and his visit to their encampment was the por- 
tion of his daily round, which he made with the 
most reluctance. 

His position of overseer had aroused many bit- 
ter feelings towards him, and in the usually sad, 
vacant eyes of the Indians whom he lashed and 
ill-treated, he had more than once caught gleams 
of menace. 

He was thinking of this, as he slowly pursued 
his way towards the lower end of the village. It 
was there, that, huddled together, the native 
workmen had their miserable dwellings. It was, 


8 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

moreover, through this section that the railroad 
was to pass, and everything in the locality 
favoured an ambush. Building materials, lying 
here and there in confusion, offered safe hiding- 
places, and all traces of crime could be easily 
disposed of in the rapid torrent that roared in 
the bottom of the valley. 

Nothing, however, seemed at present to justify 
the apprehensions of Si-Sing. His arrival found 
the wretched “pascanas,” or reed huts of the In- 
dians as silent as those of the upper village. 
Not one of the men sleeping there, wrapped in 
darkness, stirred; and there was something so ex- 
traordinary in the uncanny stillness that Si-Sing 
felt disturbed. 

This was certainly not the first time that he 
had made a similar excursion at night. But 
never had the impression, produced by the late 
hour and the solitude, been so profound. 

He stopped, holding his lantern in front of 
him, its feeble light making a bright spot on the 
darkness around. And, as for the moment his 
umbrella seemed an encumbrance, he laid it to 



IT WAS NO LONGER THERE — THE UMBRELLA HAD DISAPPEARED 








































































♦ 
































































THE ADVENTURES OF A NIGHT-WATCHMAN 9 

one side, leaning it against a pile of timber which 
happened to be there. 

He felt anxious, — he knew not why; his heart 
palpitated with a vague fear and presentiment 
of danger. . . . He listened. Not a sound was 
to be heard . . . not a whisper . . . not 
a breath ! 

What a strange thing ! . . . all those Indians 
lying there in the huts as if dead ! 

But when, having resolved to proceed on his 
way, he turned to resume his umbrella, it was no 
longer there . . . the umbrella had disappeared. 


CHAPTER II 


A DISAGREEABLE EXCURSION 

Although Asiatics are not supposed to pos- 
sess nerves of extraordinary sensitiveness, the 
shock so affected Si-Sing that he was compelled 
to lean against the timbers to keep from falling. 

That an umbrella should disappear in an as- 
sembly of men, some of whom have forgotten to 
bring their own, — is an incident which annoys, — 
but does not occasion surprise . . . But that 
one should be appropriated here, where there was 
apparently nobody to take it, — seemed like the 
work of sorcery ! 

“The Impossible is always the Possible ,” said 
the great Confucius; and Si-Sing, so mysteriously 
deprived of the article which he carried about 
with him everywhere, and upon all occasions, was 
obliged to admit that the wisest of Chinese 
philosophers was quite right. 

But the same Confucius, — the infallible Con- 
10 


A DISAGREEABLE EXCURSION 1 1 

fucius, — also said : “ Misfortunes come not alone; 
they are like the T unny-fish who travel through 
the canal of Fo-Kien, — they always go in 
shoals and his countryman Si-Sing was to learn 
that this time also the Sage was not mis- 
taken. 

In the somewhat vain hope that his umbrella 
might have fallen onto the ground, he set down 
his lantern, and stooped to search for it; when he 
rose the lantern also had disappeared. 

Oh! . . . this time the Chinaman was fright- 
ened! His legs shook like those of a horse 
brought up to the brink of a precipice, and in 
spite of the wind and snow that was cutting his 
face, the sweat trickled down his plump cheeks. 

He recalled the stories of Evil Spirits, with 
which Chinese mythology is filled, — spirits who 
delight in misleading and persecuting unfortu- 
nate mortals. 

What a frightful situation to be in! Lost 
and helpless on this stormy night! He dared 
not move; and his heart thumped in his breast 
like a drum. So terrified was he that he lost all 


12 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

sense of his whereabouts, and could not even 

remember in which direction lay the village. 

He stood thus for some minutes, unable to act 
or think. At last he recollected that he had with 
him a flask of brandy, as a protection against the 
cold. He seized it with a shaking hand, and 
raised it towards his trembling lips. But what 
he was destined to drink upon this occasion 
would never harm his delicate stomach; the flask 
had not reached his mouth when it glided from 
between his fingers, though nothing indicated the 
presence of any one near. . . . Like the um- 
brella and the lantern, the flask had disap- 
peared! 

This was too much! And a stronger brain 
than Si-Sing’s might well have reeled in be- 
wilderment. Overcome by terror, — in darkness 
which seemed each moment to increase, sur- 
rounded by invisible tormentors, who revealed 
their presence only by their malicious tricks, — 
the Chinese was ready to give up and cry like a 
lost child, — when, all at once, he perceived. . . . 
Oh, joy! . . . Oh, happiness ! . . . his lantern^ 


A DISAGREEABLE EXCURSION 13 

— his own lantern ! — burning brightly about ten 
feet away, on a pile of stones, to which it seemed 
to have transported itself. Si-Sing was one of 
those to whom light gives courage. With more 
confidence than one would have expected under 
the circumstances, he ran towards the lantern. 
He was quite near, — had almost reached it, — 
and seized it, — when it escaped, and perched a 
few yards further on. He ran after*it. The 
lantern waited for him, then, hopping on, like a 
sparrow that is looking for food in the snow, it 
again lighted just beyond his reach. He ran 
faster. ... It flew faster; it darted on; it 
stopped, again and again, as if to mock him; and, 
try as he would, he was unable to capture it. 

What an inconceivable mystery! Who ever 
heard of lanterns running about at night with- 
out the assistance of their owners? . . . One 
must come to Peru to witness such marvels ! 

Si-Sing reflected upon the miracle till his brain 
was ready to burst, without approaching a solu- 
tion of the problem. 

He would have done better to give his atten- 


14 the emerald OF THE INCAS 

tion to his feet. So enraged was he at seeing 
himself trifled with by the bewitched lantern, 
that he rushed blindly on through the darkness, 
and all at once, while reaching out to grasp it 
for the twentieth time, he felt the earth give way 
beneath him. 

Without being aware of it he had reached the 
brink of a cut through which the railroad passed, 
and down he went, turning over and over, like a 
barrel that is being rolled into a cellar, and 
reached the bottom with a thump. 

The bank of snow on which he had fallen was 
too deep and soft to cause him the least injury, 
and he found himself quite unhurt. But his mis- 
fortunes were far from ended, and this memor- 
able night was destined to form an epoch in his 
history. 

Scarcely had he scrambled to his feet when a 
powerful hand caught him by the superb queue 
of braided hair, which hung down nearly to his 
calves, and another was clapped over his mouth 
to smother his cries, while a third quickly relieved 
him of his'spectacles. 


A DISAGREEABLE EXCURSION 15 

Then two men, whom he could not see, but 
whom he recognized as Indians from their char- 
acteristic odour, grasped him, and lifting him to 
their shoulders, ran off at top speed, carrying him 
as they do dead bodies in the Sierras. 

He was so amazed and terrified that he at- 
tempted no resistance, but, like a true Chinaman, 
prepared to resign himself to the fate which 
seemed inevitable. Indeed, it was almost a re- 
lief to find that he had to do with human beings, 
and not demons ! 

The Indians ran like the wind through the 
snow and the darkness. Their pace was so fleet 
that the victim could hardly get his breath. As 
for attempting to notice the direction they were 
taking, — it was quite out of the question. 

Sometimes his bearers, who were followed by 
a troop of galloping Indians, seemed to be de- 
scending into the depths of ravines, so precipitate 
was their course, and so inclined their bodies ; at 
other times from their slackened speed, and the 
uplifted arms of the man at the rear, the Chinese 
guessed that they were climbing the abrupt sides 
of a peak. 


l6 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

Not a word broke the silence of this extraor- 
dinary journey. The carriers traversed with 
their burden, dark jungles, through which they 
seemed to find their way with the instinct of wild 
beasts. Strange animals scampered and fled 
from under their feet, great night-birds brushed 
past them on soft, velvety wings, — snow-covered 
branches and thickets caught at them as they 
rushed on, without arresting their headlong 
flight. 

Suddenly the freezing wind ceased to fan the 
temples of the Chinaman; a softer air, as if tem- 
pered by enclosing walls, reached him, and, al- 
though the darkness was still profound, Si-Sing 
concluded that they had reached some sheltered 
spot, — probably a natural grotto such as abound 
in this part of the Sierras. 


CHAPTER III 


“LONG LIVE THE INCA PAPA-CAPAC !” 

Stretching out his hands, Si-Sing was able 
to touch the roof of the low-arched ways along 
which he was being carried; sometimes his face 
scraped the rocks, receiving scratches which 
seemed to give his bearers no concern whatever. 
Little by little, as they passed through narrow 
passages which intersected one another, the 
grotto grew sensibly larger ; now and then gleams 
of light appeared and were reflected on the pol- 
ished walls of rock. 

At last they reached the end of their journey, 
and, entering a lofty natural hall, lined with 
stalactites, the Indians, without a word of warn- 
ing, threw their burden roughly on the ground. 

Si-Sing had no time to admire the splendour 
of the locality into which he had been so uncere- 
moniously introduced. For in a moment there 

rose before him from all sides a multitude of In- 
17 


l8 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

dians, who, strange to say, did not seem wholly 
unfamiliar to him, although he could not have 
designated by name any one of the faces, which 
were striped and painted with arabesques, such 
as are seen on ancient Peruvian vases, of the 
time of the Incas. 

All these Indians were arrayed in costumes 
such as Si-Sing had never seen them wear, even 
on the occasion of their most solemn festivals. 
The “ montero ” or cap, which was their usual 
head-covering, was replaced by a species of 
mitre, very tall and white, and surmounted by 
three feathers of the macaw, in red and green and 
yellow. Instead of the coarse jacket of worsted, 
which was their inseparable garment, day and 
night, they now wore a long tunic of bark, on 
which was reproduced in profusion the strange 
arabesques that decorated their faces. 

But what most astonished Si-Sing was the al- 
teration in their physiognomy. Degraded by a 
cruel and scarcely disguised slavery for centuries, 
the Indians 5 habitual expression was the cring- 
ing, pitiable one of a dog that has been turned 


“long LIVE THE INCA PAPA-CAPAc!” IQ 
out of doors. But these men carried their heads 
high, and looked fearlessly and straight before 
them. Their bearing was proud, their looks full 
of energy and resolve, and in the dark eyes fixed 
upon Si-Sing he read a triumph, long deferred, 
but now assured and close at hand. 

How in so short a time could such a change 
have taken place ? 

These men were most certainly the same, — the 
very Indians whom the superintendent had 
beaten and imprisoned without encountering the 
least resistance; by what miracle had the timid 
servile laborers of the railroad been so trans- 
formed? 

Si-Sing cudgelled his brains in vain for an an- 
swer, as he sat on the ground nursing his 
bruises. 

Among these natives of the Sierras who passed 
again and again before his eyes, he soon distin- 
guished one who appeared far superior to the 
others. And this one he recognized instantly 
from his great stature, and his fine eyes, — bril- 
liant, yet soft and gentle as those of a gazelle; 


20 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

and so amazed was he by the discovery that he 
could not restrain a cry of astonishment. This 
personage was none other than the Senor Bal- 
thasar Zapata, Head Clerk in the office of the 
railroad, life-long friend of the Engineer, Colo- 
nel Bustamente, and God-father to his daughter, 
the lovely little Candida! 

In this cavern, where he seemed to be in com- 
mand, Balthasar Zapata had a natural air of au- 
thority, which impressed even the Chinaman. A 
tunic of wool, fine as silk and whiter than snow, 
covered without confining his graceful yet pow- 
erful limbs. He wore sandals of gold, laced over 
the instep, and on his head was a circlet of gold, 
fringed with red, which permitted his hair to 
droop over his forehead. An aigrette of two 
black and white feathers surmounted this dia- 
dem. He carried in his hand as insignia of his 
rank a mace of gold about a foot in length. As 
he came forward the Indians made way for him 
with the most exaggerated marks of respect. He 
was escorted by two persons, who, from their rich 
costumes and ornaments of jewels, were evi- 
dently high dignitaries of the crown. 


“long LIVE THE INCA PAPA-CAPAc!” 21 

One, the Great High Priest, who held the place 
on the right, was a very old man, withered and 
wrinkled; but his hair, which fell over his shoul- 
ders in Indian fashion, showed not a trace of 
gray. He wore a robe of black wool, and on his 
breast glittered a golden Sun ; black slippers pro- 
tected his feet, which were small and delicate, 
and on each shone a silver Crescent. Last of all, 
on his eyes, grown dim with age, he had placed 
a pair of large spectacles rimmed with copper, 
which to his deep concern Si-Sing recognized as 
his own ! 

The second dignitary, whose place was on the 
left, and whose office was that of Grand- Judge 
and Executioner, had a face so dark and sombre 
that one could not behold it without terror. He 
was dressed from head to foot in red, and the 
harmony of his blood-coloured costume, which 
coincided so well with his functions, was further 
completed by an enormous red umbrella, which 
he brandished with a ferocious air. Is it needful 
to say that Si-Sing was once more penetrated 
with deep emotion in recognizing in this article 
his own legitimate property 1 ? 


22 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

His distress reached its culminating point 
when he beheld a third dignitary, apparently of a 
somewhat inferior order, who marched a few 
steps behind the chief, carrying with great cere- 
mony a lantern, — his own lantern, which he, in 
hours of leisure, had decorated with dragons and 
warriors ! 

To have lost his parasol, his spectacles, and 
his lantern, which were all he had preserved to 
remind him of his distant country, while sojourn- 
ing in this accursed land of Peru . . . was for 
Si-Sing the next thing to losing his life. 

Plunged in despair, he did not hear his name 
called. His name, so well known and so hated 
by the Indians of Tarayaqui, resounded on all 
sides in tones that echoed throughout the im- 
mense cavern. 

A blow on the ribs recalled him to a sense of 
reality; two Indians, who served as his body- 
guard, armed with stone hatchets, lifted him 
brusquely from the ground by his collar. 

“You’ll tear my clothes!” exclaimed the 
Chinaman (who was very careful of his belong- 
ings) . 


“long LIVE THE INCA PAPA-CAPAC!” 23 

“By Papa-Capac,” replied one of the two, 
“you’ll not need any clothes in a quarter of an 
hour!” 

And he accompanied these sinister words with 
a look that sent a shiver through the unfortunate 
Si-Sing. 

More dead than alive, he was dragged by his 
guards before the great Chief, of whom we spoke 
recently. He, standing upon a natural eleva- 
tion at one end of the hall, and attended by the 
two officials described, scarcely deigned to be- 
stow a glance from his flashing eyes upon the vic- 
tim prostrated on the ground. 

Placing his foot, clad in its golden sandal, on 
the neck of the Chinese, and raising his mace of 
gold, by a single gesture he commanded silence. 

The effect was instantaneous. The agitated 
and clamouring mass of Indians became mute, as 
if by magic. 

So profound was the stillness that water could 
be heard trickling, drop by drop, from the fissures 
of the mountain. 

And thus spoke the Indian in the snowy tunic 


24 the emerald OF THE INCAS 

and gold sandals, his foot on the neck of the 
prostrate superintendent, — the golden mace in 
his hand, and his eyes, — those eyes so dark and 
vague that belong to his race, — uplifted and lost 
in a sort of ecstatic vision : 

“Men of the Sierra! Children of the God 
Inti-Churi and the Goddess Quilla, hear me ! 

“It is I who am the Inca Papa-Capac ! 

“I have risen up from among you to reclaim 
the heritage of my fathers, and your eyes have 
recognized me. 

“It is I who am the Inca Papa-Capac! 

“Listen to the words of our ancestors, which I 
repeat to you. 

“In the Beginning the Sun shone on a world 
that was barren and desolate. Men were 
wicked; the water-springs were bitter; and the 
wool of the Llamas was too coarse to spin. 

“But Inti-Churi took pity on his creatures, 
and sent his son, Manco-Capac to the earth. He 
brought peace and plenty to mankind. And 
Manco-Capac was my ancestor, — who among 
you dare gainsay it? 


“LONG LIVE THE INCA PAPA-CAPAC!” 25 

“It is I who am the Inca Papa-Capac! 

“Men of the Sierra! Children of the God 
Inti-Churi and the Goddess Quilla, listen ! Hear 
what happened after Manco-Capac, my illustri- 
ous ancestor, returned to heaven. 

“Twelve Princes reigned after him, and their 
virtues perfumed the land; but after them there 
were quarrels in the Household of the Sun; and 
the Eye of the World was turned away from us 
because of our sins. 

“Then came from the east, mounted on swift 
horses, Barbarians with pale faces, who spread 
mourning and desolation in the Household of 
the Sun. 

“You were happy! They made you sorrow- 
ful! You were free! They made you slaves! 

“Men of the Sierra, three hundred years you 
have suffered. Your hands have been blistered 
carrying stones to build the houses of your op- 
pressors. Your backs still bleed from the lash 
and the chicote. 

“But your days of humiliation are ended. 
Hear me ! 


2t> THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

“It is I who am the Inca Papa-Capac! 

“The High Priest has sacrificed before the 
Sun, and before me, a black lamb of six months, 
without a blemish; and behold! the Sun has re- 
plied. Hear me ! 

“The time appointed for the end of the Great 
Expiation has ended. Below, on the plains the 
white-faced Barbarians, coming from Chili, have 
over-run the land, and driven our oppressors be- 
fore them. Every day the great ocean’s blue 
waters are reddened with the blood of our per- 
secutors. 

“The sons of Almagro and Pizzaro * are in 
deadly conflict; the children of the wolf are tear- 
ing each other. 

“The Eye of the World shines once more on 
the Sierra; and, mounted on their swift horses, 
the pale-faced Barbarians will flee to the east and 
return no more. 

“Men of the Sierra! Children of the God 
Inti-Churi and the Goddess Quilla, to arms ! To 

♦Almagro and Pizzaro were two Spanish generals, one of whom 
conquered Chili, and the other Peru, at the time of the Spanish 
Conquest. 


“long LIVE THE INCA PAPA-CAPAC!” 27 
arms for your Gods! To arms for the celestial 
race of your own Sovereigns ... to arms ! 

“It is I who am the Inca Papa-Capac !” 

This address was uttered in the Quicha lan- 
guage, the usual speech of the Indians. It was 
delivered slowly, in a deep, guttural voice, but 
with a fiery intensity that was surprising. 


CHAPTER IV 


“find the emerald” 

The effect of the Inca’s address was electrical. 
As if a wind had swept through the cavern, the 
many-coloured plumes on the tall mitres tossed 
and swayed, and a tremendous shout resounded : 
“Long live the Inca Papa-Capac!” 

So contagious is the enthusiasm of a crowd that 
Si-Sing, beneath the foot of the Inca, murmured, 
as if in confidence to the earth which his lips ca- 
ressed, — “Long live the Inca Papa-Capac!” . . . 

In spite of the unpleasant and mortifying po- 
sition to which he was condemned, Si-Sing began 
to understand something of what was passing 
around him. 

Subjugated by the Spaniards from the date of 
the conquest by Pizzaro, in the first half of the 
1 6 th Century, the Indians of Peru had never 
abandoned the hope of recovering their inde- 
pendence. Notwithstanding the degraded con- 

28 


“find the emerald” 29 

dition to which their conquerors had reduced 
them, the glorious memories of their ancient 
civilization lived on in their hearts. Trans- 
mitted from mouth to mouth, and from gener- 
ation to generation, the legends of former great- 
ness kept alive the sacred fire in the souls of the 
poor outcasts, among whose many thousands but 
few knew how to read and write. 

The existence in their midst of the descendants 
of their royal family of Incas, though often re- 
duced to the most humble circumstances, nour- 
ished their natural hopes, and their desires of 
revenge; and it was to these fallen Princes that 
they turned when any one of the crises so fre- 
quent in South American politics seemed to offer 
an opportunity favourable to their aspirations. 

The year 1879, in this respect, was peculiarly 
adapted to awaken their hopes, and the great 
Papa-Capac had chosen a fitting time to utter his 
call to arms. 

The war, which, on trifling pretexts, had 
broken out between Chili on the one hand, and 
Bolivia and Peru on the other, was about to re- 


30 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

suit in the defeat of the two latter powers. 

On the sea, the Peruvian fleet, after a few bril- 
liant engagements, had lost its best cruiser, the 
Huascar, and with it the control of the Pacific. 
On land the troops of Peru had met with equal 
disasters, and the news of their defeats had 
reached the Sierras, where the Indians were pre- 
paring to revolt. At several points work on the 
railroad had been stopped; and at Tarayaqui the 
engineer in charge, Colonel Gaspard Melchoir 
Bustamente, had been compelled to join his regi- 
ment of Artillery, leaving his wife, and his little 
daughter of ten years, under the distinguished 
protection of Mr. Si-Sing. What this protec- 
tion amounted to, the events we have narrated 
clearly show. Far from looking after the safety 
of others, Si-Sing had quite enough to occupy his 
thoughts with his own. 

He was at this moment, as we have said, suf- 
focating under the golden sandal of Papa-Capac, 
and, with what little reason he had left at his 
command, he was debating the question, to what 
extent, and in what ways the numberless cruel- 


“find the emerald” 31 

ties, which he had inflicted upon the Indians, 
were now to be repaid to him ! 

On this point he could form no conclusion. 
The Inca had, it is true, removed his foot, and 
allowed him to remain on his knees, before his 
sacred majesty; but the meeting was not over; 
and the High Priest, Iri-Yaqui, prepared, in his 
turn, to harangue the assembly. His voice was 
feeble and broken, and heard with difficulty, in 
spite of the deferential silence which reigned in 
the cavern. 

“Oh, my children,” said he, “let us not rejoice 
too soon. Let us not be like the. labourer who 
stops to rest before the sun has reached the ze- 
nith, and has lighted up the depths of the valley ! 
For eighty years my eyes have wearied them- 
selves gazing upon the face of our great Father, 
the Sun ; and, behold ! this is what has been re- 
vealed to me. The despoilers will not leave the 
country, where they have ruled for three cen- 
turies, till Papa-Capac shall find, and place on 
his breast, the Sacred Emerald which his ances- 
tor Manco-Capac brought from heaven to con- 


32 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

vince unbelieving mortals of his divine mission. 
Only by this means will he enter Cuzco, and 
plant the Rainbow Banner over the Palace of his 
Fathers. I have spoken.” 

The face of the Inca darkened with a shadow 
of disappointment and impatience, as he listened 
to these words of the venerable High Priest. 
Perhaps he had thought that the present emer- 
gency would justify a neglect of this traditional 
rite, the importance of which he was familiar 
with, but which seemed difficult of accomplish- 
ment just now. Perhaps, also, there was between 
himself and the Pontiff a secret lack of sym- 
pathy. . . . But he dared not oppose himself to 
the prejudices of the Indians. 

“Man of God,” said he, with feigned humility, 
“thy least words, since they emanate from the 
sacred Source of all Life, are as commands to the 
son of my father. Speak then ! Speak quickly, 
and tell us where this wonderful Emerald can 
be found, and how we may obtain it.” 

The High Priest seemed plunged in thought 
for an instant; then he replied, letting his words 


“find the emerald” 33 

fall slowly, — like a miser forced to part with his 
gold pieces. 

“The Gods have concealed the sacred Emer- 
ald from the cupidity of white men, and have 
hidden it in the inaccessible depths of the Que- 
brada of Cuzco/ They will reveal its where- 
abouts to the faithful at the appointed time. But 
it is not given to ordinary mortals to touch the 
divine Stone with their impure hands.” 

“And for whom, then?” exclaimed with a sav- 
age look the Grand- Judge, Tapou-Tambou, who 
had not spoken before: “for whom do the Gods 
reserve this favour?” 

The Pontiff waited a few moments before re- 
plying; meantime, the assembly, trembling with 
superstitious awe, awaited his answer in silence. 
Their terror communicated itself even to Si- 
Sing! . . . 

The pale lips of the holy man seemed to move, 
as they muttered a long invocation. At last the 
oracle deigned to speak, and his words sent a 

* “Quebrada” is the name given in Peru to a wild, rocky glen or 
ravine. The quebrada of Cuzco leads to the city of that name, for- 
merly the capital of the country. 


34 THE emerald of THE INCAS 

shudder through the audience, so unexpected and 
terrible were they. 

“Thus speaks your Father the Sun; Life is 
only engendered by death, and it is from the race 
of our tyrants, forever accursed that the salva- 
tion of our people will come ! T o un-seal the lips 
of the first of the Incas, who has slept for three 
centuries in the Royal Grotto, the God demands 
a young white girl, who is not over twelve years 
of age, who has hair as golden as the rays of the 
Sun, and whose eyes reflect the colour of the Em- 
erald.” 

The High Priest had not designated any one, 
and seemed to have spoken only in a general 
sense; but a name ran from mouth to mouth till 
it reached the most distant limits of the hall. 

“ Candida ! Candida! Candida!” 

It was true that the daughter of Senor Busta- 
mente united all the characteristics exacted by 
the oracle; she was of the white race, was just 
about to enter her eleventh year, and was, — a 
rare thing in the Sierra, — a lovely golden blonde, 
with emerald eyes, traits to which the Indians 


“find the emerald” 3£ 

attach the idea of demoniacal fascination and 
sorcery. 

Si-Sing, who had remained near the Inca, re- 
marked that he turned deathly pale at these last 
words of the High Priest. As yet barely 
crowned, must he already feel the bitterness of 
greatness? Must he at the very outset be com- 
pelled to sacrifice the little God-child, whom he 
so tenderly loved, to the ignorant and brutal 
superstitions of his subjects? 

“Man of God,” said he, after the first moment 
of anguish had passed: “explain yourself more 
fully. In speaking of a young girl designated 
by fate, was it of Candida you spoke?” 

“Thou hast said,” replied the High Priest, 
with a voice that was calm, though feeble. 

“But she is my God-daughter!” exclaimed 
Papa-Capac. 

The High Priest smiled bitterly. 

“Oh, man of little faith!” said he, “she was 
the God-daughter of Balthasar Zapata; but the 
Inca Papa-Capac, the Child of the Sun, can have 
no ties with the white servants of Christ!” 


36 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

The Inca bent his head, without answering. 

“If your soul is too weak,” continued the old 
man, “to renounce the affections of the world in 
which you have lived until now, — you can turn 
back. Hated and despised more than the lowest 
of the whites, you can turn back. The road is 
open before you. Not a hand will be lifted 
against the descendant of the divine Manco- 
Capac, degenerate though he be! Depart, re- 
turn if you choose, and once more place the chain 
upon your neck. The groans and curses of your 
people abandoned forever to slavery are all that 
will ever remind you of their existence ! . . .” 

The generous nature of the Inca, which would 
have resisted an appeal to personal ambition, 
yielded to this appeal made to his honour. 

“My people,” cried he proudly, “will never 
suffer through fault of mine ! I will go on to the 
end of my task. My heart breaks at the thought 
of the wrong I am called upon to do to my be- 
loved God-child; but whoso is not willing to 
sacrifice his affections to his country, is unworthy 
to serve it. It shall be, therefore, as you say. But 


“find the emerald" 37 

promise me that Candida’s life shall be safe, and 
that she shall suffer no harm!” 

“The Gods will dispose of her,” replied evas- 
ively the old man. 

The Inca was so desirous of being reassured 
that he contented himself with this ambiguous 
response. He failed to see the gleam of strange 
light that shone suddenly in the dim eyes of the 
High Priest, or the dark smile with which 
Tapou-Tambou, the Grand- Judge, greeted his 
words. 

“The die is cast,” announced the latter, “and 
we have not a minute to spare. Already much 
time has been lost; and this winter night, long as 
it is, draws near its close.” 

“Rise, slave,” said he, addressing Si-Sing, who, 
during the foregoing debate, had begun to cher- 
ish the delightful hope that he had been forgot- 
ten. 

“Do you hear 1 You are told to get up !” thun- 
dered Tapou-Tambou. 

Si-Sing rose, trembling, to his feet. 

“I had you brought here,” said Papa-Capac, 


38 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

“intending to execute justice upon you, and 
avenge the wrongs to my people, of which you 
have been guilty / 5 

“Don’t be angry, Your Majesty. ... I beg 
of you do not get excited. ... If I had known 
who you were . . .” 

“Silence!” said the Inca. 

“Another word, and you shall die,” added the 
fierce Grand- Judge. 

The two Indians, who had been guarding the 
Chinese, raised their weapons to strike, but at a 
sign from the Sovereign they lowered their arms. 

“Listen to me,” said he, “and speak less. I 
spare your life on one condition only/ 

“If you are going to ask me to find the Em- 
erald for you, I can only say that I will not under- 
take anything of the sort,” whimpered he. “I 
know nothing of where it is; besides, I am more 
than twelve years old, — and I have not emerald 
eyes! . . .” 

“Once for all, — will you hold your peace, in- 
tolerable gabbler? You are to go at once to 
Tarayaqui. . . 


“find the emerald’’ 39 

“With the greatest pleasure, illustrious 
Senor!” 

“Do not rejoice too soon. When we arrive 
where we are going, you will be told what you 
must do to obtain your liberty.” 

“I would prefer to know it right away,” mur- 
mured the Chinese, who suspected a trap of some 
kind into which he was being led. 

“You will know when the time comes, and no 
sooner. Meanwhile, not a word, — not a signal 
of any kind to our foes, — or . . .” 

The Inca pointed to the guards with their stone 
hatchets. Si-Sing understood, and hung his 
head. But his tongue, his incorrigible tongue, 
was beyond control, and as they began their 
march to the entrance of the cavern, he turned to 
the Grand-Judge in front of whom he was placed, 
saying : 

“I may be mistaken, — but it seems to me it was 
you whom I ordered whipped last Sunday. If I 
had known . . .” 

He did not finish; the Grand- Judge, who was 
not flattered by the reminiscence, raised the um- 


40 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

brella, and brought it down with a whack be- 
tween his shoulders. 

“You need not break it, anyway!” said the un- 
happy Celestial; “it’s the only one in all Peru!” 

With these words he departed with his perse- 
cutors from the grotto where he had experienced 
such trying emotions, and started to accompany 
them on their return to Tarayaqui. 


CHAPTER V 


THE ABDUCTION OF CANDIDA 

The march from the mysterious cavern to the 
village of Tarayaqui was not without injury to 
the fat, tender feet of the Chinaman. At each 
stone that he encounterd on the steep paths down 
which he hurried, he gave a groan which was in- 
stantly cut sort by a blow from the umbrella. 
The stern Grand- Judge handled his new and im- 
provised weapon with a skill that did him credit. 

“Next time Fll choose one with a lighter 
handle!” murmured the poor man at each fresh 
mark of attention bestowed by his fierce com- 
panion. 

But he soon had more serious matters to think 
of. At last, when he least expected it, the troop 
of Indians, who glided so silently and swiftly 
through the darkness, reached their destination. 

The snow had ceased; in the clear heavens a 


41 


42 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

few pale stars twinkled, and on the frozen earth, 

wrapped in shadows, Tarayaqui still slumbered. 

On the summit of the slope on which the houses 
of the village were scattered, a single light 
burned brightly in the second story of a stone 
dwelling of more imposing appearance than the 
surrounding cottages. 

It was there that the Senora Bustamente lived 
with her only daughter, Candida. 

The Senora’ s maiden name had been Maria 
Patrizzi, for she was not a Peruvian, Corsica be- 
ing her native place. 

The daughter of an old shepherd, she herself 
tended her father’s sheep on the mountains near 
Sartena; and it chanced that one day she saved 
the life of Colonel Bustamente, then a young 
man, who had come from Paris, where he was a 
student at the Central School, in order to make a 
geological exploration, and had fallen into a 
crevasse, where the dogs belonging to her flock 
discovered him. 

Small and slight, but beautifully formed, with 
delicate lips and magnificent black eyes that 


THE ABDUCTION OF CANDIDA 43 

lighted up her face, Maria Patrizzi was a true 
Corsican. 

Child of a land where the women are as cour- 
ageous as the men, born in the wild and wooded 
region of the Maquis, raised in the free, pure air 
of the mountains, — she had grown up gifted with 
the power of swift decision and energetic action. 
She was familiar and accomplished in the use of 
all sorts of firearms, and her husband had often 
been astonished at the quickness and accuracy of 
her aim. 

On this occasion, in spite of the absence of her 
husband, the Colonel, who had left to rejoin his 
command in the Peruvian army, the Indians, who 
knew her to be a determined woman and always 
armed, felt it needful to proceed with caution. 

Upon a soft, almost inaudible whistle from 
Papa-Capac, some of them stole noiselessly to the 
rear of the house, which they ascended by climb- 
ing stealthily. The remainder took positions in 
the shadows, and remained crouched as motion- 
less as the rocks that concealed them. 

Si-Sing, whom fear had drenched with perspir- 


44 THE emerald of THE INCAS 

ation in spite of the cold, was thinking of flight, 
when he felt a heavy hand, — that of the Grand- 
Judge, — on his collar. At the same time his per- 
secutor, whose grasp he felt only too keenly on 
his soft flesh, whispered in his ear: 

“Call the Senora Bustamente!” 

Si-Sing hesitated ; and the same voice, smoth- 
ered, but menacing, added : 

“Obey, — or you die!” 

The point of a dagger, which tickled his skin in 
a disagreeable manner, gave him to understand 
that this was no vain threat. 

Now, Si-Sing felt himself possessed of some 
learning (having seven times failed to pass his 
examinations for the position of schoolmaster in 
China) , and he at once called to mind a maxim of 
Confucius to this effect: “ Courage and common 
sense are two very different things .” Upon re- 
flection, he concluded that the despicable treach- 
ery demanded of him was less distasteful than 
death. 

“Senora! Senora!” cried he at the top of his. 


voice. 


THE ABDUCTION OF CANDIDA 45 

Perplexed and anxious at not seeing her super- 
intendent return with his night’s report, the 
Sehcra had remained up all night. 

She appeared instantly on the wooden balcony 
that surrounded the house. 

“Is that you, Si-Sing 1 ?” enquired she, raising 
the candle, which she held in her hand, in an en- 
deavour to see more clearly into the dark street. 
But the obscurity made it impossible to distin- 
guish any object. 

“Yes, Mistress, it is I,” replied Si-Sing. 

“Why are you so late? And what have you 
done with your lantern? You have been spend- 
ing the night drinking Chica with those accursed 
Indians. . . . Look out for the whipping-post 
tomorrow morning!” 

The threat was most unfortunate just at this 
time. It instantly did away with the very slight 
inclination felt by Si-Sing to play an heroic part. 

“No, Mistress,” said he, in the whining tone 
which was habitual with him, “I have not been 
drinking ; you accuse me most unj ustly. Y ou lit- 
tle know what I have seen !” 


46 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

“What do you mean? . . . Has bad news 
come from the army? Oh! heavens . . . my 
husband. . . . But we must make no noise. 
Candida is asleep at last; she has been sick all 
the evening. She has had the most fearful 
dreams!” 

The Chinaman was on the point of calling, 
“Don’t come down!” when he once more felt the 
tip of the dagger pressed against his neck, and 
being too fond of his life to sacrifice it for the 
sake of another, — he held his peace. 

The night now left the second story, which in- 
stantly grew dark; the Senora descended the 
wooden stairs, and, coming to the door, she drew 
the bolts. 

This was the moment ! One Indian dashed out 
the light, another held open the door, and five or 
six rushed into the house. On all sides terrific 
yells burst forth. 

The daughter of the Corsican shepherd was 
not one to be easily taken by surprise; drawing 
her revolver, she fired pointblank into the dark- 
ness. A cry of pain was the reply; it came from 


THE ABDUCTION OF CANDIDA 47 

Si-Sing, who had received the bullet intended for 
the invaders. 

But the Senora, alone as she was, could not 
hope to defend herself against the swarms which 
surrounded her home. She was seized, bound, 
and thrown on the ground, beside Si-Sing, who 
lay howling in a way to melt a heart of stone. 

Meantime, the bedroom of the little girl on 
the second floor had been entered at the same mo- 
ment from the stairs and the balcony outside. 

Awakened with a start, she imagined that 
what she saw was a continuation of the hideous 
dreams which had pursued her all night. She 
beheld with terror, leaning over her bed, the faces 
of the Indians, striped with red and black; and, 
by the glare of the torches which they had lighted, 
she gazed tremblingly on these monsters, who, to 
her childish fancy, seemed like demons escaped 
from the infernal regions. 

While some of them bounded about the room, 
brandishing their hatchets, others seized and 
overturned the articles on the toilet table, and 
broke to pieces her simple furniture. 


48 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

They offered no harm to her; but one of them, 
who had ventured to extend his hand to clutch 
the little gold cross which she wore suspended 
around her neck, was not permitted to complete 
the attempt. A person of imposing stature, who 
seemed to be their chief, struck him down by a 
blow from a gold mace, which he held in his hand. 

In raising his arm for this purpose, he had un- 
intentionally disarranged the “poncho,” or cloak, 
which concealed his face Candida recognized 
him and cried : 

“Help! . . . Help! . . . Save me, dear God- 
father, I implore you . . 

The child, whom he had so often cradled in his 
arms, called on him in so touching a voice that 
he could not resist the impulse of tenderness that 
drew him towards her; but as he leaned gently 
over the bed to reassure her, a hand fell heavily 
on his shoulder, and, turning, he met the grim, 
threatening glance of the High Priest. 

It was enough . . . and once more he was the 
Inca Papa-Capac. 

“Do not cry, my child,” said he quietly : “They 


THE ABDUCTION OF CANDIDA 49 

will not harm you.” Then, to the Indians, 
“Wrap her up in the covers and carry her away!” 
commanded he. “But, by the soul of my ances- 
tors, if you injure so much as a hair of the child’s 
head, your lives shall answer for it!” 

Warmly enveloped in her blankets, her head 
covered by a scarf, found by chance, the poor lit- 
tle girl was taken away with no trouble. She 
cried, and called: 

“Mama! Oh, Mama!” . . . But her nature 
was so timid and gentle that she never thought 
of resistance. 

At the foot of the stairs she beheld a lament- 
able sight. Si-Sing, seated in a corner, was oc- 
cupied in stanching his wound, which was but 
slight, while the Senora, alive and unwounded, 
but tightly bound, dragged herself to the door, 
and strove frantically to defend her daughter. 
The Grand-Judge, with his usual brutality, 
threw her to one side, and she saw with despair 
her daughter carried away into the darkness. 

“Farewell, Mama, — farewell forever!” cried 
the little girl; her cries grew fainter and more 


50 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

indistinct as she was borne off, and soon ceased 
to be heard. 

The whole of the occurrences narrated had 
lasted barely a quarter of an hour. At the sound 
of the shots, the village had awakened. The 
townspeople and the Chinese ran to the scene, 
bringing lanterns. It was too late to succour 
Candida; the Indians had escaped, without leav- 
ing any traces behind them, and in going had set 
fire to the house. 

There was barely time to rescue the Senora, 
and to drag out Si-Sing, who was in danger of 
being roasted. At the moment of their arrival, 
the fire had touched his magnificent black hair, — 
and his famous braid, — his superb queue, more 
than a yard long, remained in the ashes ! 

It was long before Si-Sing forgot this fatal 
night, on which he was destined to lose all that 
formed his pride and happiness; his spectacles, 
his lantern, his parasol, — and his queue, — to say 
nothing of the dear little mistress, who, next to 
those four articles, was dearer to him than all 
else in the world. 


CHAPTER VI 


THE SENORA’S ARMY 

So many misfortunes, falling all at once, 
would have overwhelmed a less energetic and 
determined woman. But when the morning 
dawned, dark and misty, Maria Patrizzi was able 
to look, undaunted, at the smoking ruins of her 
home. 

Her first care was to send a message to her 
husband, briefly informing him, in as few words 
as possible, of what had occurred. She was well 
aware that she could count on no assistance from 
him. Colonel Bustamente was then at Tarapaca, 
in the southern portion of Peru, more than one 
hundred leagues from the spot where the odious 
outrage had been committed. He was awaiting, 
from day to day, the onslaught of the Chilean 
army, which was advancing by forced marches 
on the city. 


51 


52 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

What would be his agony on hearing the 
dreadful news? To yield to his impulse, and 
fly to the succour of his wife and child, would be 
to abandon his post as a soldier. Fearful alter- 
native ! Maria Patrizzi knew that her husband 
would not hesitate an instant. Divided as he 
would be between his affection for his family and 
his duty as a soldier, it would seem to him only 
one more sacrifice made for his country, — a sac- 
rifice far more cruel than that of his life. But 
the country, to whom we owe all, — has she not 
the right to demand of us all we have? 

It was plain that Donna Bustamente must 
think and act for herself, — and she had already 
decided to do so. 

It is needless to say she had not for a moment 
thought of invoking the laws of the country. 
Even in ordinary times this would have been a 
lengthy proceeding, and likely to prove uncer- 
tain in its results. At present it was out of the 
question. From the commencement of hostili- 
ties Peru had been given over to complete an- 
archy. At the opening of the war every able- 


THE SENORA’S ARMY 53 

bodied man had been called to the plains to face 
the invaders. No police, no magistrates, — no 
forces of any kind were available to protect citi- 
zens. The Sierra, deserted and left to itself, had 
at once declared for independence, and the con- 
ditions now existing were the primitive ones of 
nature, wherein each one must protect himself, — 
or perish. 

Nothing could in the main have been more 
pleasing to the Senora Bustamente. She had 
been raised in the mountain forests of Corsica, 
among shepherds and bandits; totally ignorant 
of the law, and heartily despising it, she was ac- 
customed, like all her countrymen, to rely solely 
on her own hand for the punishment of her foes! 

After swallowing a few mouthfuls of food to 
sustain her strength, after the excitement and 
shock of the preceding night, she went at once to 
the cabin of Si-Sing, where she established her 
headquarters. Next she proceeded to make in- 
quiries, and interrogate the Superintendent. 

With his arm in a sling, very humble and sub- 
dued, as became him after his contemptible 


54 THE emerald of THE INCAS 

treachery, he was about to begin his recital, when 
a great hubbub was heard outside, accompanied 
by the shouts and yells of an advancing multi- 
tude. 

'Take care, Mistress! Take care!” cried Si- 
Sing, as usual easily frightened; “It is much 
easier to get into trouble than to get out of it!” 

“Coward!” said the Senora, glancing at him 
with disdain. As he was endeavouring to place 
himself before the door, she contemptuously 
brushed him aside, and opening the door, went 
out. Her lips were pressed firmly together, her 
eyes blazing, and in her delicate little hand she 
carried a whip with a silver handle. 

At a glance she saw what was happening. Fol- 
lowing the example of the Indians, the Chinese 
had risen against their masters. 

There were about one hundred of them; with 
their little slant eyes, and their rat-tails flutter- 
ing down their backs, they were shouting and 
pushing each other in a confused mass. Some 
shouted in Chinese, some in poor Spanish, and 
some in Quicha, ... it was a babel ! 


THE SENORA’S ARMY 55 

At the sight of the Senora Bustamente, who 
came boldly forward, their shouts redoubled. 

“What do you want?” said she. 

“Liberty! Liberty! . . . We want our lib- 
erty!” 

She shrugged her shoulders. 

“Fools that you are ! Do you suppose I have 
got your liberty in my pocket? . . . Ask the 
Government for it, — you are its servants, not 
mine.” 

Yellow mobs are no more intelligent than 
white ones. They continued to threaten and ges- 
ticulate, shouting: 

“Liberty! . . . Liberty! . . .” 

She placed both hands over her ears; this had 
the effect of producing quiet. 

“I cannot,” said she, profiting by the momen- 
tary lull; “I cannot discuss matters with a 
mob. . . . Let one of your number come for- 
ward and inform me what are your complaints; 
I will hear what he has to say.” 

At this reasonable proposal the Chinese seemed 
to hesitate; they talked together in low voices, 


56 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

each one seeming anxious to place the responsi- 
bility on his neighbour. Cool and indifferent, — 
at least outwardly, — Donna Bustamente waited. 

At last a Chinese left the crowd and came for- 
ward ; he was a huge fellow of the most brutal ap- 
pearance, with a deep, powerful chest. His type 
more nearly resembled the European, and he evi- 
dently belonged to one of the races which inhabit 
the mountains of the island of Formosa. 

“What is your name?” asked the Senora. 

“Chao-tung.” 

“Ah! I remember you; you are one of our best 
workmen, — that is, when you are willing to 
work; but you are not always willing. . . . 
Have you ever been in the lock-up?” 

“Yes,” said he sullenly. “I was there fifteen 
days for striking Si-Sing.” 

“Ah, yes! I remember you now. And it is 
you whom your friends have chosen to be their 
representative! An excellent choice, truly! 
Well, go on. Speak. But be careful of your 
words. What is it that your people want?” 

“We want to go back to our own country.” 


THE SENORA’S ARMY 57 

She laughed. 

“Your country is rather far off! Do you so 
much as know in what direction it lies?” 

He pointed with his finger towards the 
west. 

“Good! I did not suppose you were so well 
informed! But you crossed the ocean to come 
here, and you must cross it again to get home to 
China. And how do you expect to even reach 
the coast? You would all die of hunger and 
thirst before arriving there.” 

“You will give us provisions, — the store- 
houses are full.” 

“But if I refuse?” 

“We will take them.” 

“You will take them?” 

“Yes. And we will take those sparkling 
things you have in your ears ! The Indians have 
taken the daughter, — why should we not take 
the rest? A Chinaman is every bit as good as an 
Indian, I guess!” 

While speaking he had drawn near, and raised 
a hand enormously enlarged by the use of the 


58 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

pick and the shovel. His looks were so repulsive 
that in spite of her courage Donna Bustamente 
recoiled a few steps. 

“Come back! Come back, Mistress!” called 
Si-Sing, as he stood in the doorway of his cabin, 
waving frantically his one serviceable arm. 

The moment was critical. The Senora felt 
that she was lost if she turned to enter. Divin- 
ing her hesitation, the circle of Chinese ap- 
proached nearer. Her resolve was taken. Draw- 
ing up her slender form, and standing firmly 
where she was, she quietly passed her loaded and 
silver-mounted whip from the left to the right 
hand. 

“Chao-Tung,” said she; “you are a cowardly 
rascal, and my only regret is that I did not long 
before this have you punished as you deserve. 
But you will lose nothing by my delay. For hav- 
ing spoken with insolence to the wife of your 
master, you shall receive presently twenty-five 
blows of the lash.” 

“Twenty-five blows of the lash?” yelled the 
savage. . . . Wild with rage, he raised his arm 


THE SENORA’S ARMY 59 

to strike down his frail adversary, with a fist 
that resembled a blacksmith’s hammer. 

With a single bound the Senora sprang to one 
side, and as her huge assailant, carried forward 
by the impetus of his blow, reeled for an instant 
like a drunken man, she brought the loaded end 
of her whip down on his head. 

The skull was heard to crack like a breaking 
plank. The gigantic brute fell heavily onto the 
frozen ground, — and his companions, instead of 
coming to his rescue, — looked on, silent and con- 
founded. 

Then, stepping carelessly over the insensible 
mass at her feet, the courageous Corsican walked 
boldly up to the Coolies. Si-Sing (seeing her 
victorious) came out and followed at her heels 
like a big spaniel ! 

“You have asked for liberty,” said she to the 
mutineers in a thrilling voice; “I will give it to 
you. Alone, by yourselves you are powerless 
against the perils that surround you ; everything 
here, — both the country and the people are hos- 
tile to you. Long before you would obtain even 


60 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

a far-off glimpse of the blue ocean, which sepa- 
rates you from your country, you would all of 
you, without my assistance, die of fatigue and 
hunger in the mountains. Madmen! ... You 
need a head to counsel you, — an arm to direct 
you. I will be that head ; I will be that arm. I 
here pledge you my word, and that of my hus- 
band, Gaspard Melchior Bustamente, that in- 
side of a year at the latest you shall see the na- 
tive land you long for.” 

A deep murmur ran through the ranks of the 
Chinamen, who were greatly moved at the pros- 
pect held out to them by Donna Bustamente. 

Si-Sing, more demonstrative than the others, 
and feeling perhaps the greater need of forgive- 
ness, threw himself on his knees on the ground, 
and kissed the edge of his mistress’ dress. 

But Donna Bustamente had not finished her 
speech : 

“Friends,” said she, in a softer and more per- 
suasive tone of voice, “what I have told you is 
only a part of my plans. You are too sensible 
not to realize that all service merits a reward.” 


THE SENORA’S ARMY 6l 

“Confucius has said the same thing,” mur- 
mured Si-Sing, who had not yet risen. 

“Listen, then,” continued the Senora, “to what 
I have to propose.” 

“You all know,” — and here they could ob- 
serve that, in spite of her firmness, — her voice 
trembled and broke. . . . “You all know the 
dreadful sorrow that befell me last night. In- 
famous villains, profiting by the absence of my 
husband, have stolen my daughter. I have now 
but one object in life; to find my child and pun- 
ish her abductors. Will you aid me in this sa- 
cred work? Will you be helpers, my friends, my 
soldiers? Remember my dear little Candida, 
how she went about smilingly and lovingly 
among you ! How she used to try and help you, 
and would take up your heavy tools in her soft, 
little hands. . . . Poor little darling! Young 
as she was, she loved you; she felt for your mis- 
fortunes, and pitied you with all her heart; and 
when any of you were sick, her greatest joy was 
to go and sit by you, and try to comfort you. 
Friends, she was my child, — but she was yours, 


62 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

too! Will you not help me to get her backT’ 
The fiery heart of the Corsican shepherdess 
melted as she spoke of Candida, and her emotion 
communicated itself to those who listened. 

The Chinese have the highest veneration for 
family affection. Their mood changed ; and soft- 
ened even to tears by the thought of the tender 
child so miserably lost, they cried out with sobs : 

“You have spoken well, Mistress! We will 
follow you! Lead us, and we will fight for you, 
and will stand by you and your little girl to the 
death!” 


CHAPTER VII 


LOST IN THE SNOWS OF THE CRUCERO 

While Donna Bustamente, with her usual en- 
ergy, was bending all her efforts to raise a 
Chinese army in the wilds of Peru, to rescue her 
daughter, — the Indians who had taken Candida 
were fleeing with her through the Sierras. 

Instead of venturing into the warm valleys, 
where the descendants of the Spanish settlers 
might have resisted his progress, Papa-Capac, 
like a prudent commander, had not neglected to 
push constantly on towards the higher levels of 
the mountains. 

Wherever he passed, the men of his own race 
rose and joined him; but as they approached the 
frozen summits of the Andes, villages grew 
scarce; life gradually disappeared, and the deso- 
late region offered only here and there the shel- 
ter of bare rocks almost entirely buried in snow. 

In this portion of the country, to the north of 
63 


64 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

Lake Titicaca, the peaks which dominate with 
their eternal whiteness the countless sources of 
the Amazon, attain nearly the altitude of eigh- 
teen thousand feet. 

The European Alps, which appear like dwarfs 
compared with these giants, can hardly, even in 
their wildest sections, give an idea of the won- 
derful and sublime spectacle, which these limit- 
less regions of snow and ice offer at all seasons of 
the year. 

Accustomed to the climate of their native land, 
rescued so recently from a life of slavery, and all 
its miseries, — the Indians marched on, as if un- 
conscious of the cruel severity of the cold. 

Not so Candida; she had been a fragile child, 
reared by her mother with infinite care and ten- 
derness; and it was not without reason that she 
had received the name of the “Lily of the Sier- 
ras.” Poor lily! . . . pale little blossom, spring- 
ing up as flowers that bloom beneath the snow ! 
Candida had never grown accustomed to the wild 
land of her birth. Here, where her life could 
only have been nourished and invigorated by an 


LOST IN THE SNOWS OF THE CRUCERO 65 

active existence, such as causes the heart to beat 
strongly and send the rosy colour to the cheeks, 
she had lived languidly, like a flower bending 
upon its stem, in a sort of hot-house environ- 
ment. 

So gentle and serious was she that her mother 
was often vexed. Donna Bustamente, who re- 
called her own boisterous youth, could not be 
reconciled to so sensitive and timid a child. 
When she would find her lost in admiration of 
some of the rare minerals belonging to her fath- 
er’s collection, or engaged in embroidering with 
minute care one of the dainty little “reliquaries” 
so much valued in the Sierras, she would say im- 
patiently: 

“Wake up, little Sleepy-head! Surely you 
can never be my child! You have not a drop of 
Corsican blood in your veins! Ah! if you had 
seen me at your age, in our mountains, — how I 
used to leap from crag to crag after our 
goats! ... I could not have been more than 
twelve, — but no one dared to contradict me ! I 
was not any bigger, — no, not any bigger than 


66 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

you, when I declared a ‘Vendetta’ against cousin 
Bastalica, who had called me a ‘Blackey.’ I, a 
‘ Blackey ” continued Donna Bustamente: 
“Dark I am, — I admit, but Bastalica knew better 
than to call me that again !” 

The little girl would listen to this tirade with- 
out interrupting, smiling with her usual calm 
and somewhat sad expression, and then draw up 
close to her mother’s side, with a movement so 
soft and caressing that her impetuous mother 
felt her severity melt away, like snow under the 
touch of the warm south winds. 

One can imagine what must have been the suf- 
ferings of so delicate a child, taken roughly from 
its mother’s arms, in the dead of night, and 
brought away into a temperature that even ro- 
bust men were barely able to endure. 

Still wrapped up in the blankets of the bed 
where they had found her, Candida had made 
the journey thus far in the arms of the Indians. 

The orders of the Inca on this point had been 
strict; but compelled as he was to be almost con- 
stantly at the head of the company to encourage 


LOST IN THE SNOWS OF THE CRUCERO 67 
his followers, he had been unable to watch over 
his God-daughter. 

The paths on the mountain were not broken, 
and, marching deep in snow, the Indians moved 
on slowly in single file, painfully setting foot in 
the tracks of those who had preceded them. 

Little by little, so impossible was it to wait 
for such as fell behind, the long column wound 
along in fragments, like a mutilated serpent, 
whose parts were unable to unite. 

The Indian who carried Candida, a prey to 
the superstitions of his race, scarcely daring to 
touch her golden hair, which seemed to him like 
the flames of the infernal regions, now profited 
by a moment when he saw himself unobserved, 
and set her upon her feet in the snow. He re- 
placed her blankets by a “poncho” much too 
large for her, and thus overburdened, and with 
sandals that left her little feet exposed, she was 
made to follow the troop. 

The fierce north wind, which poured down 
from the heights, struck with terrible chill upon 
her unprotected chest; her beautiful hair so fine 


68 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

and long and silky, her hair so tenderly kissed 
by her mother every morning when she combed it, 
escaped in wild disorder from beneath her scarf ; 
and her little feet bled as their skin, soft as tis- 
sue, came in contact with the icy stones. 

But her tormentors had not the satisfaction 
of hearing a complaint. The frail child showed 
a patience and fortitude that was surprising, and 
which seemed to resemble the strength of the 
Senora, but in another form. 

But that which was wholly her own, and which 
she certainly did not derive from either of her 
parents, was the angelic sweetness which she 
showed in her misfortunes. Her lovely emerald 
eyes, which the cold had filled with tears, were 
lifted full of pity to her persecutors. “What 
harm have I ever done you?” they seemed to 
say; and “How you yourselves must have suf- 
fered to be willing to treat a child so cruelly!” 

The road mounted constantly higher and 
higher. The fanatical Indians followed their 
leader without asking where he was conducting 
them. 


LOST IN THE SNOWS OF THE CRUCERO 69 
There were long hours of the march when it 
seemed as if they had not even begun as yet to 
scale the enormous heights which they had un- 
dertaken to cross. At each new ascent poor Can- 
dida asked herself, “Will this be the last?” But 
always beyond the snowy summit they had 
gained, others extended, white and limitless. 

By degrees, the little girl, whom nobody 
thought of now, fell back among the last ranks. 
The distance between her and the laggards in- 
creased; one of her sandals fell off, and was lost 
in the snow; she stopped behind for a moment to 
look for it, and when she attempted to run after 
the others, her limbs failed her. Then, wholly 
unable to walk, exhausted with fatigue and cold, 
she sank at the foot of a great rock of black ba- 
salt, to rest, — or to die. . . . 

Young as she was, she had always been a 
thoughtful, religious child. The snow, which 
covered the mountains as far as the eye could 
reach, reminded her of the white shroud they 
place over little dead children, when they carry 
them away from their mothers. . . . 


70 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

These pale and icy solitudes of the Crucero, 
which she had so often heard spoken of in hushed 
tones of awe and mystery, were to be her tomb ! 

What fearful legends had she not heard of 
these regions'? — dreaded even by the Spaniards, 
where ghosts of the Incas, unmolested by their 
conquerors, perpetually return to mourn and la- 
ment! 

She saw but too well that the descriptions fell 
far below the reality, and she expected to see each 
moment standing between the black sky and the 
white plain the spirit of one of those emperors 
whose misfortunes and adventures she had lis- 
tened to as her God-father rocked her to sleep! 
And to think that this God-father, — so cruel, — 
whom she had so loved, — was one of those em- 
perors ! Try as she would she could not picture 
him with a diadem, and a great mantle of er- 
mine, such as emperors wear ! 

In the midst of these thoughts sleep came upon 
her suddenly. An inexpressible comfort took 
possession of her; a smile of peace and content- 
ment rested upon her lips, violet with the cold. 


LOST IN THE SNOWS OF THE CRUCERO 71 

and after a last goodnight to her parents, she 
slept. 

She dreamed that she was once more in Taraya- 
qui, in her own home before a splendid fire that 
lighted up all the room. How warm she was! 
and how good it seemed, after the cold she had 
endured! She seemed to be lying on a soft car- 
pet of llama’s wool, and as she held out her hands 
towards the fire to warm them, she could scarcely 
recognize them, they were so cracked and swol- 
len. Near her stood her father, leaning on the 
gun she knew so well, and he was crying as he 
looked at her. . . . Never before had she seen 
her father cry! . . . She saw her mother also in 
her dream; she was walking up and down the 
room, rapidly and determinedly. Her face was 
stern, her lips tightly closed, and her brilliant 
eyes were dry. Oh ! what a look ! What a dark 
look! She had no need to speak; it was so easy 
to see what was in her heart ; despair, — hatred, — 
and fierce desires for vengeance convulsed her 
features. 


72 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

It seemed to Candida that she tried to rise and 
go to her mother, but that she fell back on the 
carpet, unable to reach her. Although suffering 
no pain, all her members seemed benumbed. 
Holding beseeching hands to her mother, in re- 
sponse to what she saw were the secret thoughts 
of her heart, she cried : 

“Mother! Mother! They have done evil to 
me, — but do not you return evil to them!” 

And as Donna Bustamente made a violent ges- 
ture of refusal, it seemed in her sleep that a mor- 
tal anguish pierced her heart, and she sobbed and 
cried : 

“Oh! Mother. . . . Pardon them! . . . Do 
you want to kill your child a second time 1 ?” 


CHAPTER VIII 


INCA OR GOD-FATHER 

Suddenly a violent blow awakened the little 
girl- 

“Up! child of the Devil, and march on! Did 
you think to escape us?” 

The speaker was none other than Tapou-Tam- 
bou, the Grand-Judge. Although the Inca held 
this brutal and blood-thirsty man in abhorrence, 
he had, for reasons of policy, been compelled to 
appoint him to one of the most important posi- 
tions in the new kingdom. An own cousin to the 
Inca, Tapou-Tambou was supposed to have some 
pretensions to the throne; and his ferocious ha- 
tred of the whites had rendered him especially 
popular with the Indians. 

Never was his hatred more bitterly manifested 
than towards the helpless Candida. Tapou- 
Tambou, whose thick-set, awkward figure and 
repulsive features would have befitted a butcher 

73 


74 THE emerald of THE INCAS 

of the slaughter house, hated the “Lily of the 
Sierras.” He, more than any one else, had been 
the prime-mover in the plot to carry her off, and, 
having been the first to perceive her absence, he 
had retraced his steps to find her and punish her 
to his satisfaction. 

Stiff with cold, and but half-recovered from 
her dreams, Candida slowly opened her eyes. In- 
capable of moving, she lay motionless, and gazed 
at the fierce Indian who had spoken so brutally 
to her. 

Tapou-Tambou was not a patient man. His 
heavy hand again descended on her shoulder. 

“Up! I say, — march on! Otherwise the vul- 
tures will make their supper off your bones, and 
that is not the fate the Gods intend for 
you! . . 

In an agony of terror, Candida endeavoured 
to rise, and take a few tottering steps forward on 
the snow. She possessed a fine courage, — more 
than would be expected of one so young, — but 
strength was lacking. In a few moments she was 
obliged again to stop; a violent nausea seized 


INCA OR GOD-FATHER 75 

her ; her heart beat in irregular spasms, — her ice- 
cold limbs refused to support her, and she sank 
on the ground, without a word of reproach to her 
tyrant. 

T apou-T ambou knew not the meaning of pity ! 
A man of merely primitive and savage instincts, 
he knew the whites only from the blows he had 
received at their hands, and his nature was too 
low to recoil from taking vengeance upon an in- 
nocent child. 

With an oath he struck the almost insensible 
form that lay before him. 

“Come!” said he, “enough of fine airs, Prin- 
cess ! March on, — or I will make you. Do you 
suppose that whips are made only to use on In- 
dians?” 

“Wretch!” cried a voice at his elbow: “Touch 
her so much as by a finger, and you, yourself, 
shall die under the lash!” 

At the same instant the Inca, for it was he who 
had spoken, knelt beside Candida. 

Paler than the lily whose name she bore, the 
child lay totally unconscious. 


76 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

“Woe to you if she is dead!” furiously ex- 
claimed the Inca to Tapou-Tambou, who, with 
arms crossed, stood looking darkly at him, with- 
out a word. 

But Candida was not dead. Assisted by the 
High Priest Iri-Yaqui, who arrived with some of 
his servants, Papa-Capac succeeded in forcing 
open her locked teeth, and introducing a few 
drops of Agua-ardiente between her lips. Re- 
stored to life by the burning liquid, the child rose 
painfully to a sitting posture, and putting her 
arms around the neck of the Inca as he bent over 
her, she said in a tone so sweet and touching that 
it stirred even Tapou-Tambou: 

“Is it you, God-father? Oh! how long you 
have been coming to your poor god-child . . . 
she has been very sick! Shall I see Mama 
soon? . . .” 

At each word, remorse, like a sharp knife, 
pierced the heart of the Inca, and the High 
Priest, who was watching him closely, saw that 
he turned away to hide his tears. 

“Is this what you promised me?” said Iri-Ya- 


INCA OR GOD-FATHER 77 

qui: “The Elect of the Sun has more important 
matters to think of than the misfortunes of a lit- 
tle girl.” 

“How can I fight against the feelings of my 
own heart*?” exclaimed Papa-Capac. 

“You can, and you must,” replied Iri-Yaqui, 
who was not without a certain dignity in his in- 
tolerant bigotry. “You are gravely mistaken if 
you suppose that merely to be the descendant of 
Manco-Capac entitles you to reign over his peo- 
ple. To occupy a throne one must be worthy of 
it.” 

“Have I not proved myself worthy*?” cried 
Papa-Capac, stung in spite of himself by the old 
man’s reproaches. 

The Pontiff replied slowly, and with firm- 
ness: 

“You are young; and you have been raised 
among the whites. They have given you in place 
of the diamond heart that beats in every Indian’s 
breast, a heart without hardness or resolution. 
But courage, my son ! Courage ! Remember the 
race from which you have sprung; remember the 


78 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

exalted position which the will of the Gods has 
ordained you to fill. A ruler of the people, so 
highly placed that his feet rest on the heads and 
the necks of men, must also be above them in all 
common affections and feelings. The Inca be- 
longs to his Nation, — not to himself!” 

The High Priest had spoken with a bitter and 
fanatical sort of eloquence, his arm extended to- 
wards the Inca, and his air was one of imposing 
majesty. 

The young Sovereign, overcome, could only 
bend his head, much to the joy of Tapou-Tam- 
bou who smiled grimly at his discomfiture. 

Meanwhile, Candida was gradually regaining 
her senses. They had placed her on blankets, 
and the “mozos,” or servants, were busily en- 
gaged in rubbing her half-frozen feet and hands 
with snow, while, without a word, she gazed from 
one to another of the speakers. 

The High Priest had, with shrewdness, placed 
his finger on the weak spot in the character of the 
Inca. 

Although the actual lineal descendant of the 


INCA OR GOD-FATHER 79 

ancient royal line of sovereigns, Papa-Capac was, 
in reality, only half-Indian in disposition. Edu- 
cated with Colonel Bustamente in France, im- 
bued with the ideas and customs of Europe, he 
had inevitably yielded to the softening influences 
of civilization. On returning to his own country, 
the traditions and sentiments of his race had 
again asserted their power ; but he could not di- 
vest himself wholly of the training he had re- 
ceived across the water; and there were now ex- 
isting in him two men ; the Inca, proud of his an- 
cestors and the antiquity of his people, and the 
intelligent, civilized, modern man, educated in 
the sciences of the whites, capable of understand- 
ing and respecting them, — and above all, — an 
unpardonable sin in the Indians’ eyes, — capable 
of loving them ! 

The appalling difficulty of the task he had 
undertaken appeared to him now, for the first 
time, in all its immensity; and he saw that be- 
tween himself and his people there existed an 
unsurmountable wall, — and an unfathomable 
abyss. 


80 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

But, tender of heart, and feeble of will, he 
could only defer till later what must be a dan- 
gerous decision; and, perceiving that Candida 
was somewhat restored, he gave the signal for 
departure. 

This time no Indian could be found to carry 
the little “sorceress” with golden hair and em- 
erald eyes. They firmly believed that to take 
her in their arms, and march forward in the dark- 
ness, was to invite certain destruction. 

In the face of these superstitious fears, Papa- 
Capac could only shrug his shoulders. 

“Well, then, it must be I who will carry her,” 
said he. 

“How many times,” thought he, “have I not 
held her in my arms when she was smaller ! And 
these idiots take her for a witch! ... A fairy 
she might indeed be, — the loveliest and daintiest 
of fairies ! . . . Ah, beloved child ! nothing will 
ever erase from my heart the remorse I feel at 
the wrongs I have done thee!” 

The Indians, however, who had not been 
brought up in France, held to their own opinions 


INCA OR GOD- FATHER 8l 

concerning Candida, and their fears were not al- 
layed by the frightful storm, which now sud- 
denly burst over the Sierras. Enormous black 
clouds, which had been creeping along the sides 
of the mountain ever since morning, parted, and 
a shower of huge hailstones descended in fury on 
the company, as if to arrest them at the entrance 
of the pass, which was to lead them to the oppo- 
site side of the Cordilleras. 

Unmoved by the madness of the elements rag- 
ing around him, Papa-Capac strode rapidly on, 
carrying the little girl. He had covered her head 
with his cloak, and, sheltered from the storm, 
held close against the heart she had not ceased to 
love in spite of its disloyalty, Candida rested 
happy and content with the momentary repose 
and protection afforded her. 

From time to time the Inca put aside the cloak, 
and smiled down upon her. But when the High 
Priest, who marched directly in front, chanced 
to glance backward, her God-father’s counten- 
ance changed, and became so stern that Candida 
felt inclined to cry ! 


82 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

It was now late ; the darkness would not per- 
mit a longer march ; and the little troop stopped 
for the night in a miserable shelter of rocks, hid- 
den in a hollow between two mountains; they 
ate a few grains of maize and drank a few 
mouthfuls of water, and went to sleep. 

The next day at dawn the Inca and his fol- 
lowers resumed their march to rejoin the main 
body of the army, which it was supposed had by 
this time reached its destination. 

They were now descending the northern slope 
of the Crucero. The country, though still wild, 
was no longer covered with snow; they had left 
the regions of perpetual ice and snow far behind; 
a stream which had tumbled down the mountain, 
leaping from rock to rock, like a frolicsome child, 
now flowed quietly in a lovely valley among 
groves of mimosa. After fording the stream and 
traversing for some miles a district thickly cov- 
ered with forests of thorny growths, they began 
to ascend a rocky elevation, which showed some 
evidences of having been once a road, — but a 
road of the remotest antiquity. 


INCA OR GOD-FATHER 83 

At last, after many turnings and windings 
amid huge blocks of stone, thrown one upon an- 
other, without apparent design, as if by some 
earthquake, they arrived at a great natural arena, 
or circular plain, which it would have been im- 
possible to find without previous knowledge of 
its location. 

On all sides of this circle rose colossal build- 
ings of stone, some forming streets and squares, 
and others deep excavations in the rock. Here, 
majestic temples with grand stairways; there, gi- 
gantic palaces, with vast echoing halls; houses, 
some of them several stories in height, of an ar- 
chitecture that would not have seemed out of 
place in Paris or Vienna; all without doors or 
windows, and seemingly uninhabited from the 
commencement of the world! 

This was the “ City of the Demons.” 

It is not rare to find in Peru, especially in the 
region of the Andes, the remains of cities, like 
this, cut in the rock by Indian architects and 
sculptors of the times of the Incas. But none 
offer so striking and interesting an example as 


84 the EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

this “City of the Demons ,” so called because, ac- 
cording to native tradition, it was built in a sin- 
gle night by Genii, at the command of Manco- 
Capac, on the spot at which he made his first halt 
after leaving the “Island of the Sun,” in Lake 
Titicaca, to bring civilization to Peru. 

At his mandate the stones, obedient to the 
mighty charms of the Sun, hastened to place 
themselves all carved and fitted, one upon an- 
other; thus rose by the sole power of the divine 
word these enormous buildings, similar in many 
ways to the architectural wonders of ancient 
Egypt. 

Here were huge giants lying on the earth with 
roughly carved features; single shafts, standing 
isolated by themselves, crowned with a sort of 
turban and vaguely resembling a human face; 
long rows of “menhirs,” or upright stones, ranged 
like priests in a procession, — nothing was lack- 
ing to the Demon City to complete its resemb- 
lance to those ruins of our own ancient countries 
which exhibit the first rude attempts at architec- 
ture of primitive man. 


INCA OR GOD-FATHER 85 

All of these figures, whether standing or re- 
cumbent, had their legend ; they were believed to 
be the original inhabitants of the land, who were 
a race of Giants with long ears, which hung down 
on their shoulders, whom Manco-Capac had, in a 
moment of displeasure, turned into stone because 
they refused to believe in his mission. Here and 
there in the centre of the immense area (made, no 
doubt, by the action of waters), there rose great 
masses of stone more than one hundred feet in 
height, shaped like the walls and pylons of Kar- 
nac, and obelisks whose points seemed to pierce 
the clouds. Temples there were also, low and 
massive, without windows, and palaces whose 
foundations made of indestructible stones laid 
without cement, suggested the works of the 
Cyclops. 

Even the dwelling houses, though much 
smaller and less imposing, offered in their inte- 
rior a spectacle worthy of admiration. In these 
imperishable buildings, which no human foot 
had entered for centuries, were found spiral stair- 
cases encircling a central shaft, as a serpent might 


86 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

encircle a tree; in the sleeping rooms were 
benches, seats, couches, tables, and baths, — all 
cut out of the solid rock, by artists whose names 
will never be known. . . . 

After being abandoned for so many centuries, 
the Demon City was now to awake from its sleep. 
To witness the life and movement now once 
more animating the ruins, one would have said 
that Manco-Capac, the national Hero, had once 
more returned to earth, and taken up his tri- 
umphal march from the Island of the Sun to his 
imperial city of Cuzco. 

But fifteen days had elapsed since Papa-Capac 
had established his headquarters here, yet al- 
ready the Demon City had the appearance of a 
real Capital. 

As if it had needed only a wave of the Inca’s 
golden wand to bring back the vanished world, 
— the old civilization of the country seemed to 
have returned in all its completeness. 

The ancient prophecies so often repeated and 
so often doomed to be disproved by events, 
seemed now about to be realized. The tyranny 


INCA OR GOD-FATHER 87 

of the invaders was about to end, and, while off 
there, far away on the borders of the great ocean, 
their oppressors were fighting each other, the 
conquered race might now' lift its head! 

Thousands of Indians with skins as brown as 
nuts, coming from all parts of the Sierra, circu- 
lated through the great streets of the temporary 
capital. 

And, as in the “Palace of the Sleeping- 
Beauty,” all these men, who seemed to have been 
aroused from the sleep of three centuries, fell at 
once into the ranks, and performed the offices 
which had belonged to their ancestors. 

Here, the Amautas, or Sages, dressed in long 
robes of black wool, explained gravely to the 
young disciples grouped around them the mys- 
teries of the ancient Peruvian science. 

There, went by, on their way to the trial field, 
the young nobles who aspired to the honours of 
chivalry. They wore white tunics, on which 
was embroidered a kind of ornament resembling 
a cross, and were easily recognized by their long 
gold ear-rings, which hung down as far as their 
shoulders. 


88 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

These youths were destined to form the body- 
guard of Papa-Capac. After their enrollment, 
and the trials which accompanied it, such as 
sword exercise, wrestling, running and vaulting, 
a crown of flowers was placed upon their heads, 
and they were given sandals of the finest leather, 
and were supposed, thereafter, to belong to the 
sacred “corps d’elite.” 

Elsewhere might be seen a “Curaca” or “Caci- 
que,” a chief of a nation formerly conquered by 
the Incas, who came to do homage. A crowd 
assembled about the steps where the ceremony 
took place, and after each phrase pronounced by 
the Curaca the by-standers shouted : 

“Hailli! Hailli! Haillil ” 

Sometimes the Emperor also deigned to show 
himself to his subjects in all the splendour of his 
supremacy! He was borne in a litter decorated 
with the feathers of the paroquet in all colours, 
enriched with gold and silver. Before him 
marched his household servants, in gay liveries 
of many colours, like the coat of Harlequin. 
Behind came the “Guards,” some armed with 
battle-axes of gold or silver, others with two- 


INCA OR GOD-FATHER 89 

edged swords, whose handles sparkled with pre- 
cious stones. 

As the imperial ’procession passed, the Indians 
prostrated themselves in the dust; it would have 
been death to raise the eyes to the august face of 
the sovereign. 

When the Inca left the palace it was usually 
to go to the temple of the Sun, and never was his 
brow more clouded than on these occasions. 

This temple, built of Cyclopean blocks of 
stone, in the shape of a horseshoe, had at the rear 
of the sanctuary a splendid and glittering image 
of the God, of which each separate ray was a 
great blade of gold. 

So long abandoned for the worship of a strange 
god, Inti-Churi now beheld his temple crowded, 
its pavements covered by kneeling multitudes! 

On each day when the Sun, free from mists or 
vapours, shone with unclouded radiance upon the 
Sierra, Iri-Yaqui, dressed in black, his head 
wrapped in a black turban, searched with eager- 
ness the sacrifices to discover from them the se- 
crets of the future. 


90 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

While he announced to the prostrated worship- 
pers the will of the deity, his glassy eye was fixed 
continually upon the sombre and moody face of 
the sovereign. 

It became for Papa-Capac a veritable obses- 
sion, from which he could not escape. He, whose 
power over his subjects was supreme, and with- 
out limit, was still obliged to bow before the yet 
higher authority of the High Priest. 

From hour to hour some veiled allusion of the 
Pontiff reminded him of the obligations which 
he had thus far eluded, by remaining in the City 
of the Demons. 

Following the hardships of the journey across 
the mountains, little Candida had suffered a se- 
vere inflammation of the lungs. To leave her 
to the care of the Indians who hated her would 
have been to consign her to certain death. To 
take her with him on another journey would have 
been equally dangerous. Papa-Capac, tender of 
heart and undecided of will, finally prolonged 
his stay in the city, awaiting her recovery. 

Instead of confiding her, sick as she was, to the 


INCA OR GOD-FATHER gi 

mercy of Tapou-Tambou, or others among his 
followers, who would have treated her with 
cruelty, he had retained her near him; had her 
eat at his table, and watched over the frail little 
girl as if she had been his own child. 

But in spite of the various pretexts alleged by 
the Inca as justifying this delay, the strangeness 
of his course had not escaped the notice of those 
about him. The most indulgent spoke of 
“feebleness of character,” but there were others, 
led by Tapou-Tambou, who did not hesitate to 
whisper the word “Traitor!” 

The most clear-sighted of all was the High 
Priest. Admitted at all times to the palace in 
consideration of his sacred office, he watched the 
household of the Inca with a gloomy eye. 

The innocent graces of Candida had no power 
to touch his withered heart, in which religious fa- 
naticism and ferocious hatred of the whole white 
race struggled for mastery. 

The convalescence of the child, attended only 
by ignorant native physicians, was long; the 
weather was still too rigourous to permit of her 


92 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

being exposed to the air, and Papa-Capac, obsti- 
nate, as all weak persons are once they have taken 
a resolve, and are set on a course of action, tol- 
erated no interference in the matter. 

The situation was serious. Indian herdsmen 
from the Sierras had brought the news that an 
army of Chinese was approaching the city. All 
might be lost by further delay! 

At last there came a day when, not content 
with threats muttered between his old teeth, Iri- 
Yaqui burst out openly with denunciations of 
the Inca. He was supported by Tapou-Tambou 
and the Indians, who, swayed by his words, were 
prepared to obey him blindly, and new dangers 
beset the generous Inca and his little God- 
daughter. 


CHAPTER IX 


THE ANGER OF INTI-CHURI 

The Winter solstice was approaching, — a pe- 
riod of mourning and lamentation for the sub- 
jects of the Inca. 

At this season their shining and resplendent 
God, the glorious Sun, Father and Nourisher of 
all living things, seems to withdraw from the 
earth, which, till now, he has warmed with his 
rays. 

In vain, wretched mortals, shivering with cold, 
groan and lift beseeching hands towards him. 

Inti-Churi, offended by their numberless sins, 
closes his ears to their prayers; his face, dim and 
lurid, is seen only through dense veils of fog, and 
his mighty voice, reverberating among the deep 
gorges of the Sierras, speaks to them only in 
storms, reminding them of their wrong-doings 
and their crimes. 

One can imagine with what impatience Iri- 
Yaqui, absorbed in his dark designs, awaited the 

93 


94 THE emerald of THE INCAS 

coming of the dread day, — the shortest day of 
the year. 

About a week before the solemn anniversary, 
he proclaimed a general Fast; an easy observance 
in ordinary times for Indians, whose usually 
frugal fare consists of potatoes and hard maize, 
but very unacceptable now after the period of 
feasting which had followed their painful march 
through the snows. 

There was a universal outcry among the sub- 
jects of Papa-Capac, and the popularity of the 
Inca suffered in consequence. 

It was given out by the emissaries of the 
High Priest that it was on his account that the 
great Expiation was to be made. Iri-Yaqui’s 
followers went from group to group, and from 
one part of the city to another, spreading per- 
fidious and injurious reports concerning the Inca. 

Though still treated with outward respect, — 
(for punishment quick and prompt as lightning 
would have been the portion of any one failing 
in due reverence of manner), he was odiously 
slandered behind his back. 


THE ANGER OF INTI-CHURI 95 

While Papa-Capac despised such machina- 
tions, he was far from underestimating their ef- 
fect; and it was with grave anxiety, not only for 
himself, but for her he called his adopted child, 
that he beheld the dawn of the fatal Day. 

The morning rose cloudy; a thick mist, — omi- 
nous portent, — shrouded all the surrounding 
mountains; and when these were partly dissi- 
pated, the sun shone through dark clouds, fierce 
and red, like an angry eye, inflamed by sick- 
ness! 

Standing on the steps of the Temple, dressed 
in the black robe with which we are acquainted, 
the High Priest looked down over an immense 
multitude of Indians, prostrated before the sanc- 
tuary. 

For a long time he stood motionless, calm and 
severe ; not a muscle of his rigid features moved. 
At the appointed time he made a sign, and two 
young girls from among the Priestesses of the 
Sun, modestly advanced. 

One carried a small cup of gold, exquisitely 
chiselled, which contained a few tufts of dry cot- 


g6 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

ton. The other held in her hand a concave mir- 
ror, the handle of which was formed of twisted 
serpents of silver. 

In accordance with the ancient religious rites 
of the Incas, the sacred fire was to be obtained 
by concentrating the rays of the Sun upon the 
cotton. 

But today the experiment failed. Each time 
that the High Priest held the mirror over the 
cotton, the Sun hid his face in clouds. . . . The 
displeasure of the God was but too manifest, and 
after the third trial, as prescribed by the ritual, 
the High Priest restored the mirror to the young 
Priestesses. 

A murmur of consternation rose from the mul- 
titude. All these superstitious souls, in whom 
Christianity had not effaced the old beliefs, were 
terror-stricken. 

Seated on a throne at the right of the High 
Priest, Papa-Capac made no movement; but an 
almost imperceptible smile of contempt played 
over his lips. 

Two sacrificial priests next appeared, wear- 


THE ANGER OF INTI-CHURI 97 

ing long garments of red, which left their arms 
bare to the shoulder. They led with them a 
young llama of six months, whose hairy coat was 
a soft golden brown. The poor animal, not 
knowing what was to befall it, lifted its long 
neck, snuffed the air, and gazed quietly on the 
assembled multitudes with its mild, stupid eyes. 

As the young creature stretched its gentle head 
out towards the High Priest, as if to caress him, 
Iri-Yaqui, holding in his hand a sharpened peb- 
ble of the stone called Obsidian, struck it on the 
forehead. 

The little llama sank on the pavement; but 
as the blow of the feeble and aged High Priest 
had not been mortal, the assistants were obliged 
to dispatch the animal. 

Again a shudder of dismay ran through the 
spectators. There could be no worse omen than 
this! It was apparent that Inti-Churi refused 
their offering ! 

Cries and groans now burst forth on all sides. 
It was clear that the anger of the God rested upon 
his people, and the hand, which had chastised 


98 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

them so harshly for three centuries, was again 

raised to strike. 

No! No! ... It could not be so! The na- 
tion had not done aught to offend since its es- 
cape from slavery; and if there were a guilty 
one , no matter how exalted his station, he must 
come forward and publicly confess his sins ! 

In an instant the name of Papa-Capac was on 
every lip, and the words, suggested beforehand 
by the spies of the High Priest, was shouted by 
every mouth. . . . 

“Let the Inca confess! Confess! Confess!” 

This was an ancient ordeal from which it was 
impossible even for an Inca to escape; to it he 
must submit, as well as the humblest of his sub- 
jects. At certain seasons of the year, especially 
at the summer and winter solstices, the entire 
Indian nation, under the auspices of the priests, 
was accustomed to make a general confession; 
this confession was made in public, in the pres- 
ence of all the people, after which the penitent 
was accorded absolution. 

Listening to the clamours which demanded 


THE ANGER OF INTI-CHURI 99 

this humiliation, Papa-Capac smiled bitterly. In 
the short period of his reign, — less than a month, 
— he had learned to estimate the capricious and 
unreliable character of his people, and was well 
aware of the rancour and jealousy that had been 
aroused among them. 

But, superior as he knew himself to be, feel- 
ing infinitely above the ignorant herd which sur- 
rounded him, disdaining the base passions by 
which they were actuated, — and counting also 
upon his prestige to carry him successfully 
through any conflict that might arise between 
himself and the High Priest, — he offered no ob- 
jection. 

Rising from his throne, he came forward, 
standing erect and proud at the summit of the 
stairs, which descended from the Temple to the 
crowded square, and looking sternly down upon 
the angry multitude beneath him, with arms 
crossed upon his breast, with firm look and ring- 
ing tones the Inca opened his heart before his 
people. 


CHAPTER X 


THE INCA’S CONFESSION 

“Hear me, ye mountains, whose summits 
pierce the clouds; ye deep Valleys and snowy 
Plains! Hear me, ye Birds of the Air; Condors, 
who soar from peak to peak of the Sierras; Owls, 
who hide in dark recesses of the caverns ; hear me, 
ye Wild Beasts that roam the forests, — and ye, 
my People, hear me ! I come to confess my sins. 

“There was a time when I sat tranquil, dream- 
ing pleasant dreams, and leaned my head on my 
hands. Then the groans of my people came to 
me. 

“Men of the Sierras, the lash of the Spaniard 
has cut bleeding scars on your backs; you have 
scratched with your nails the hard ground, to 
raise harvests that were not for you, but for your 
masters. 

“You have left your villages in long troops, 
like beasts of burden, to toil in the dark ravines 


100 


THE INCA’S CONFESSION 101 

of the mountains, — and you returned never again 
to the light ! 

“And I heard a voice, a voice from Heaven, 
which said: ‘The Children of Inti-Churi have 
suffered enough. Awake ! Inca, Child of the Sun, 
descendant of Manco-Capac . . . Awake ! . . . 
Go forward ! It is thou who art first of thy race. 
It is thou who art to lead them. The whites have 
taught thee to read in the sacred books of knowl- 
edge ; they have showed thee how to curb the wild 
torrents of the mountains by throwing bridges 
across their rebellious waters; from them you 
have learned to make roads of iron on the 
steep paths of the mountain sides. . . . Arise, 
Papa-Capac! Go forward. All that they have 
taught thee turn thou against them to help thy 
race. It is the will of thy God !’ 

“And I gave heed to the voice which spoke. I 
closed my ears to the insidious pleadings of the 
tyrants, who said to me: ‘Leave the ignorant 
masses of thy countrymen who labour and suffer. 
You are no longer one with them. They are no 
longer your people.’ I listened not to their 


102 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

words. I came to you. I raised you from the 
earth, from slavery. Is there a man among you 
who regrets the bread soaked with tears that he 
ate under the pitiless eye of the taskmasters?’ 

“I led you forth; I guided you through the 
snowy solitudes of the Crucero, and you followed 
me as a child follows his father. Who of you 
has seen me eat, when you were hungry? Who 
has seen me warm, when you shivered? . . . 
Who saw me sleep, when you watched? 

“Men of the Sierras, my conscience is clear, my 
heart is pure. If I wash my hands in the water- 
spring they stain not the water, — it runs still as 
pure and bright as silver ! 

“To those who accuse me, and who send words 
like poisoned arrows among my people, I say, 
looking fearlessly up to the face of the Father of 
all, ‘May the Sun judge between us!’ ” 

But the Sun did not reply to the fervid ap- 
peal of his Child. 

Instead of showing approval by a beaming 
face, resplendent with dazzling light, he 
wrapped himself in black clouds which sent de- 


THE INCA’S CONFESSION 1C>3 

spair to the hearts of the superstitious Indians. 

The High Priest, cool and calm outwardly, 
was inwardly exulting. He now ordered them 
to bring the “Stone of Pardon.” This was a sort 
of ball of red stone, which it was the custom to 
break after each “confession.” 

With one blow of the instrument used on such 
occasions, it flew apart. The inferior priests 
threw themselves upon it, eager to secure the 
fragments, which were valued as charms. . . . 
Alas! nothing could be more unlucky! The 
“Stone of Pardon” had merely separated in two 
halves. . . . Oh, misfortune! . . . Oh, de- 
spair ! . . . The God actually refused to accept 
the confession of the Inca, — and denied him ab- 
solution. Wailings resounded on all sides. 

Even Papa-Capac was overwhelmed. Edu- 
cated as he was in all the science of the whites, 
the old faith of his ancestors still had a lodging 
in the bottom of his heart. He believed in the 
worship of the Sun as firmly as he believed in his 
own mission. 

“The God has spoken!” cried Iri-Yaqui 


104 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

triumphantly; “his will is clearly declared. Lis- 
ten, my people. My tongue till now has been 
sealed, — it shall now throw off its bonds. It is 
not the Inca who is culpable.” 

“And who, then, is?” exclaimed Tapou-Tam- 
bou, — ferocious as usual. 

“He is not culpable,” repeated firmly the High 
Priest, who felt it as yet to his interest to protect 
Papa-Capac; “he is not the guilty one; he is the 
victim of a spell cast upon him by the young 
white maiden whom he has sheltered in his 
house.” 

“Yes! . . . Yes! . . . Death to the Sorcer- 
ess! Death! Death!” shouted the Indians, who 
it was but too easy to turn against poor Candida. 

“Her hour has not yet come,” gravely replied 
Iri-Yaqui; “but it is needful to protect our re- 
vered Sovereign from the incantations by which 
she has enslaved his will. I demand that this 
maiden quit the dwelling of the Inca, and that 
she be placed in my hands as a hostage. Her 
magic artifices will be of no avail against the 


THE INCA’S CONFESSION IO5 

representative on earth of the all-powerful Inti- 
Churi.” 

A universal acclamation rose from the crowd, 
as if to endorse the words of the High Priest. 
The people evidently approved; they meant to 
convey to their sovereign that he must yield to 
the wishes of the Pontiff. But the pride of Papa- 
Capac revolted at being placed in such a position. 
Springing up, he left the throne on which he had 
sunk, disheartened, a moment before, and again 
advancing to the front of the temple stairs, he 
braved the threatening multitudes at his feet. 

“Give up that helpless child to be the victim 
of your ignorance and brutality^” cried he; “no, 
never! Never!” 

“Think well, Inca, it is your crown that is at 
stake!” whispered the High Priest in his ear: 
“One word from me to those people, — and you 
are lost!” 

“Speak the word, then!” said the unhappy 
young monarch, in utter desperation, while thou- 
sands of furious voices yelled: 

“Death! Death! Death to the Wife hi” 


CHAPTER XI 


-x>. 

THE BATTLE OF THE PLAZA-MANOR 

All seemed lost. The Indian populace, in- 
flamed by the words of the High Priest, and mad- 
dened by superstitious fears, was on the point of 
abandoning itself to the wildest excesses. 

Already the more reckless had seized stones, 
and were running towards the Palace, prepared 
to immolate Candida as a sacrifice, which they 
hoped would appease the displeasure of their 
Father the Sun. 

Papa-Capac, distracted, and beside himself 
with anxiety, wrung his hands in anguish. For 
the first time he doubted his people, and de- 
spaired of his mission, — and of himself! 

And all the while there rose from the crowded 
Plaza, covered with dark heads as far as the eye 
could see, the ominous cry: 

“Death! Death to the Sorceress !” 

A few more seconds, and no power on earth 

106 


THE BATTLE OF THE PLAZA-MANOR 107 

could have turned aside the current of popular 
fury; the Inca had sunk down hopelessly upon 
his throne, when, suddenly, the sound of a shot 
was heard, followed instantly by fifty or sixty 
others ; the Inca sprang to his feet, and hastened 
once more to the portico of the Temple. Tapou- 
Tambou and other officers' were there, together 
with the High Priest ; the latter pointed silently 
to the heights which overlooked and dominated 
the Plaza; they were crowned with a white 
smoke. It was from there the fusillade had come, 
and a gust of wind which blew aside the smoke 
showed the keen-sighted Indians who were the 
foes so unexpectedly attacking them. 

It was, in fact, the little Chinese army of 
Donna Bustamente, which, feeling its way cau- 
tiously, had at last discovered the trail of Papa- 
Capac, and, having followed it across the moun- 
tains, had taken advantage of the ceremonies of 
the winter solstice to attack the city. 

At first all was indescribable confusion among 
the crowds collected in the great Plaza; the ex- 
citement and panic resembled, somewhat, the ef- 


108 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

feet of an unexpected shower of rain falling sud- 
denly in torrents upon the streets of a big city. 

Posted as they were behind a natural rampart 
of rocks, the Chinese fired rapidly, and were able 
to aim with coolness and accuracy. Si-Sing had 
replaced his lost umbrella by a sword and di- 
rected the fire. 

Already more than fifty Indians lay on the 
ground, dead or dying; the others had rushed to 
take shelter behind the heavy blocks of stone, 
placed, according to their tradition, by the di- 
vine power of their first Inca, Manco-Capac; and 
it was now that his descendant, the- present Inca, 
— so recently distrusted and denounced, — re- 
gained completely the confidence and devotion 
of his subjects. 

While Tapou-Tambou, bewildered by so sud- 
den an attack, ran aimlessly about, here and 
there, shouting like a madman, the Inca did not 
for one instant lose his composure, and Iri-Y aqui, 
in spite of his prejudices, was forced more than 
once to nod his old head in approval. 

The time which had elapsed since their arrival 


THE BATTLE OF THE PLAZA-MANOR 109 
at the Demon City had been by no means wasted, 
— as some were pleased to think. The Indians 
had been drilled, and some had been taught the 
use of European weapons; Papa-Capac had en- 
rolled all the able-bodied men capable of bear- 
ing arms, in companies, each of which was com- 
manded by its Curaca or Cacique. 

So good was the discipline of this hastily or- 
ganized force that when, upon an order from the 
Inca, the trumpets sounded, the various com- 
panies responded promptly, and formed in or- 
der, in spite of the incessant rain of bullets. 

Danger seemed to have restored all his for- 
mer strength and decision to the Inca. His char- 
acter, so tender, and at times so lacking in firm- 
ness, became like a bar of iron in the presence of 
real peril. 

He seemed to be everywhere at once, at all the 
most exposed points, and moved among his sol- 
diers as calm and unmoved as if on parade. 

At the first sound of the firing, Candida had 
run to the Temple ; and, hidden behind a column, 
which partly protected her, she had followed 


1 10 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

anxiously with her eyes the movements of the 
Inca’s black and white plumes. Her poor little 
heart, so lovingly faithful to both her mother and 
her God-father, knew not what to hope for. . . . 
Alas, to pray for one seemed to pray against the 
other ! 

Tapou-Tambou, who held the position of Com- 
mander of the Inca’s army, was boiling with im- 
patience. 

He shook his fist at the heights, which contin- 
ued to pour down at each instant so deadly a 
fire, and shouted with bloodshot eyes : 

“Inca, are you going to wait till we are all 
killed 1 ? If you keep on there will be none of us 
left to admire the sacred emerald when it hangs 
on your breast! . . . Say the word, and with 
my brave warriors I will exterminate these ac- 
cursed Yellow-skins!” 

But Papa-Capac shook his head, and wisely re- 
fused to authorize an assault, which, owing to 
the more advantageous position of the enemy, 
would have been fatal to the Indian army. He 
preferred to wait for some false move on the part 


THE BATTLE OF THE PLAZA-MANOR 1 1 1 
of his foe, — and this was not long in coming. 

It was now five o’clock in the afternoon. The 
firing on each side had grown feeble and inef- 
fective. The Indians, well sheltered, had recov- 
ered the apathetic calm, which is one of the char- 
acteristics of their race. 

But in the camp of Donna Bustamente no such 
quiet prevailed. Si-Sing had much trouble in 
persuading his mistress against making an im- 
mediate descent upon the city. 

His little squint eyes had scanned sharply the 
buildings surrounding the great square, and had 
detected the considerable forces hidden behind 
them. 

“Let us remain where we are,” said he: “we 
are in an excellent position, and they cannot dis- 
lodge us.” 

But, like Tapou-Tambou, in the other camp, 
the Senora was quivering with impatience. The 
corpses she saw lying here and there, on the 
square, inspired her with an exaggerated notion 
of her successes; and she had, moreover, an un- 
limited confidence in her own determination, and 


112 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

in the cowardice of the Indians, whom she had so 
often chastised with her own little hands, with- 
out meeting the least resistance. 

All at once, as the daylight was drawing to an 
end, she thought she saw, by the last rays of 
the fading light, the face of her beloved child — 
how pale and thin! — peeping out from behind 
the columns of the Temple. Candida was alive ! 
She was there! . . . But a few feet separated 
them from each other! . . . And what if the 
bullets of her own soldiers should strike her 
child! 

The thought was more than the impetuous 
feelings of the Corsican mother could endure; 
she instantly ordered her men to cease firing, and 
prepare to carry the city by assault. Two col- 
umns were formed, with the intention of attack- 
ing the place at two separate points. Donna 
Bustamente was in command of the first, and Si- 
Sing of the second of these detachments. 

But the operation turned out more difficult 
than was at first expected; the Senora’s men were 
compelled to make a long detour in reaching the 



IT WAS AN ANCIENT WAR OF RACES THAT WAS BEING FOUGHT OUT ON THIS 

SECLUDED BATTLEFIELD 




THE BATTLE OF THE PLAZA-MANOR 1 13 

proper position, and Si-Sing had been defeated 
before they had even opened fire. 

The unlucky Majordomo, advancing in the 
gathering twilight, rather against his will, had 
scarcely put foot on the Plaza when he received 
a tremendous blow from a sabre on the back of 
his neck at the very instant that he was calling 
upon his men to charge. 

Seeing him fall, his followers turned their 
backs, and ran off in a general panic, Chao-tung, 
to whom the Senora had given such a vigorous 
blow of the whip, was the first to take to his, 
heels. 

The fighting on the part of the Senora’s de- 
tachment had been much more serious. Donna 
Bustamente had directed her attack at the por- 
tico of the temple, where she had seen her daugh- 
ter. 

The conflict was furious ; no quarter was given 
by either side. The Indians’ roars of hatred were 
answered by frenzied yells from the Chinese. 

It was an ancient war of races that was being 
fought out on this secluded battlefield, so lost in 


1 14 the emerald OF THE INCAS 
the solitude of the Sierras, and both parties, op- 
pressed as they had been by the Spaniards, took 
the opportunity afforded by the absence of their 
common enemy to exterminate each other. 

A slender line of rose-colour, growing fainter 
each instant, was still to be seen in the western 
sky, where the sun had gone down, and the dim 
light showed the Indians bounding like wild 
beasts on their foes. Their extraordinary cos- 
tumes appeared even more fantastic in the in- 
creasing darkness, which was beginning to en- 
velope them. 

Standing erect on the lowest step of the tem- 
ple, the tall form of the Inca could be seen in the 
gloom; a tomahawk stained with blood was in 
his hand, and he watched with piercing eyes the 
furious groups struggling desperately at his feet; 
the mantle of feathers which he wore gave him 
somewhat the appearance of one of the gigantic 
Condors of the Sierras, which poise themselves 
majestically in the upper air before descending 
like a thunderbolt upon their chosen victim. 

By the fitful light of the torches Donna Busta- 


THE BATTLE OF THE PLAZA-MANOR 1 15 

mente had seen him. A spasm of pain shot 
through her heart on recognizing the abductor of 
her child. Eluding an Indian, who had been pur- 
suing her and endeavouring to intercept her, she 
ran towards the Inca. 

At the sight of her, Papa-Capac leaped down 
to encounter the supposed soldier. But the Se- 
nora, who was wearing men’s clothing, had all 
of a man’s courage. She fearlessly and adroitly 
parried with her sword a blow from the toma- 
hawk; at the same instant, using her revolver, 
she aimed straight at the Inca’s heart, — and fired. 
The ball struck Papa-Capac squarely on the 
breast, but, encountering a gold ornament in the 
shape of a crescent which he wore, it glanced 
harmlessly off, inflicting merely a slight bruise. 

(The Indians declared later that they had seen 
the ball rebound from the invulnerable person 
of their Emperor!) 

It was the Senora’s last bullet; her sword, 
broken to the hilt by the blow of the tomahawk, 
was useless, and she knew that she must now look 
death in the face. 


1 16 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

But, separated forever from her adored child 
by the victory of the Indians, — why should she 
care to live? . . . 

Felled to the ground by a blow, she sank down 
without resistance. The blade of a cutlass 
gleamed above her head — and she regarded it un- 
flinchingly. Suddenly she saw in the fierce eyes 
of her adversary a look of recognition ; the burn- 
ing glance fixed upon her, softened, and recoiling 
a step, Papa-Capac murmured in the Spanish lan- 
guage so execrated by the Indians : 

“No! ... I will not shed this innocent 
blood ! How can I slay a mother whose child I 
have stolen?” 

He pointed silently into the surrounding shad- 
ows, and rising, without a word, Donna Busta- 
mente disappeared in the darkness. 

The battle was over, and the victory of the In- 
dians was complete. 

It had been due not only to the courage and 
firmness of Papa-Capac, but fully as much to his 
wise forethought, and the preparations made in 
advance by him. On this point all were agreed, 


THE BATTLE OF THE PLAZA-MANOR 117 
— even the High Priest ; but there were many, in- 
cluding Tapou-Tambou, who blamed him se- 
verely for his clemency in allowing the Senora 
to escape ; and as these malcontents became inso- 
lent and violent in their clamour, the Inca strode 
towards them, stern and resolute. 

Throwing aside his mantle, and displaying the 
golden crescent on his breast, which had served 
to protect him, he cried : 

“Could I, without offending the divine pity 
of the Gods, kill a mother? Answer! Reply to 
me, O my Mother Quilla . . . thou who reignest 
in the Heavens when my Father the Sun is 
away !” 

Perhaps the words of the Inca, inspired by so 
ardent a faith, passed beyond the atmosphere 
which wraps our earth, and penetrated to the ce- 
lestial spaces! ... To so earnest an appeal 
what “mother” could remain indifferent? 

The clouds which covered the sky melted 
softly; they glided apart, like curtains, and in the 
open heaven was seen the radiant face of the 
Moon. Her rays fell glittering on the golden 


1 18 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

crescent, and revealed her sparkling emblem to 
the eyes of all. 

This time the Gods were favourable to Papa- 
Capac. The Indians prostrated themselves on 
the ground with their faces on the blood-stained 
earth; while Iri-Yaqui, surrounded by his priests, 
and the beautiful Priestesses of the Sun, intoned 
a hymn of praise to the Goddess Quilla. 

When this was ended, Papa-Capac once more 
addressed his people : 

“Children of the Sierra,” said he : “the sword 
has done its work, and my Mother Quilla has 
blessed our victory. Return now to your places 
in the city. Secure your prisoners, and take your 
rest. Tomorrow at dawn I will lead you on our 
quest of the Sacred Emerald.” 


CHAPTER XII 


THE MIRACULOUS ESCAPE OF SI-SING 

The Inca had been too hasty in announcing a 
departure on the following day. The necessary 
preparations required more time than he had an- 
ticipated. 

The Plaza, on which the battle had taken 
place, was strewn and encumbered with the dead. 
Attracted by such an unusual feast, flocks of 
foul carrion birds fluttered over it in clouds. No 
matter how great his anxiety to be gone, even 
Iri-Yaqui was aware that it would be impossible 
to evacuate the City of Demons until the rites of 
burial had been solemnized over those who had 
fallen in the sacred cause. 

Tapou-Tambou was the officer on whom the 
duty devolved, and he performed it with his 
usual coarse brutality. 

There was, however, one portion of his task 
which Tapou-Tambou accomplished with a 


120 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

painstaking care that would have been truly 
praiseworthy, had it not been prompted by a 
fiendish malice. 

Although the Inca had spared the life of the 
Senora, Tapou-Tambou cherished the hope that 
she might have fallen, struck by some stray bul- 
let, and he would find her among the dead. 

As each corpse was lifted, he came hurriedly 
forward to examine the countenance, and each 
time a gesture of ferocious disappointment es- 
caped him. The Senora was not there. And, al- 
though he had taken every precaution to arrest 
her flight, it was clear that she had escaped; and 
who could tell what trouble her energy and de- 
termination might yet cause to her victors'? 

The burial operations had been conducted 
with so much vigour that towards the close of the 
day there remained only one more pile of dead. 
These were nearly all Chinese, and they lay, 
heaped up, in a corner near the spot where Si- 
Sing had so ingloriously fallen. 

Among all these yellow faces, which so 
strongly resembled each other, it would have re- 


THE MIRACULOUS ESCAPE OF SI-SING 121 
quired a sharp eye to distinguish our friend, the 
Superintendent. Deprived of his spectacles and 
his umbrella, there was nothing to mark him as 
in any way different from his poor countrymen. 
“At the grave all men become equal!” So says 
the illustrious Confucius; and once again the 
favourite author of Si-Sing has enunciated a bril- 
liant truth. 

One after the other the Chinese, killed in de- 
fending their mistress, or in running away, were 
carried to the trench, into which they were un- 
ceremoniously thrown with no regard to the pos- 
ture they had assumed in falling. . . . There 
remained but one, and he was about to follow the 
road taken by his comrades, when the Indian 
who had hold of his legs felt them tremble. The 
idea that the dead man was returning to life ter- 
rified him, and he cried out : 

“Master! Master! . . . This corpse is 
alive!” shouted he. 

The first act of Tapou-Tambou on hearing this 
remarkable intelligence was to shrug his shoul- 
ders, and the next was to bestow a whack on the 


122 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

back of the informant. The Indian, feeling that 
it might be safer to deal with the dead than with 
the living, once more took up the feet of the 
corpse. But he instantly received from them a 
vigourous kick in the stomach, which caused him 
to relax his grasp, and the supposed corpse hav- 
ing fallen to the ground, sneezed several times 
violently — (without, as you may imagine, any 
one troubling themselves to say, “God bless 
you!”), after which the dead man opened his 
eyes, and looking somewhat dazed, as if he did 
not quite understand what was going on around 
him, — slowly sat up. 

It was Si-Sing himself, — the great, the fat, the 
glorious Si-Sing in person, returned as if by 
a miracle from the portals of the tomb! The 
sabre-cut, which he had received the day before, 
had not terminated his career, though it had come 
perilously near doing so. The thick braid of 
false hair, which he wore ever since the loss of 
his own beautiful queue, had caused the blade to 
slip, and he had escaped with nothing more se- 
rious than a prolonged fainting fit. 


THE MIRACULOUS ESCAPE OF SI-SING 123 

Tapou-Tambou ground his teeth at the sight 
of his old enemy. 

“He’s dead ! He’s dead, I tell you!” he thun- 
dered. “Throw him in the ditch with the oth- 
ers!” 

The Indians, whom this singular spectre ap- 
palled, recoiled, and hesitated to obey, while 
Si-Sing, in a voice trembling with emotion, 
endeavoured to protest. 

“It seems to me,” moaned he, “that when a 
man tells you he is not dead, the least you can 
do is to believe him!” 

But “None so deaf as those who will not hear” 
is a proverb even among the Chinese; and, al- 
though Si-Sing shouted : 

“Hold on! Hold on! I tell you I am 
alive! ...” Tapou-Tambou paid no heed to 
his appeals. He was determined to complete 
his task of burying all the Chinese, — dead or 
alive; and even supposing that a sentiment of 
pity could have found a place in his ignorant, 
savage mind, it would not have been Si-Sing to 
whom mercy would have been shown. 


124 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

“By Manco-Capac !” said he, “if one were to 
listen to those chaps over there, there is not one 
of them who would consent to be dead! Hand 
me my club; and since this great, fat fool has the 
impudence to say he is alive, — I will soon con- 
vince him to the contrary! . . 

One of those who looked on, — there are al- 
ways some to be found ready to execute such or- 
ders, — presented him with the weapon he called 
for, and he brandished it over the head of the 
Chinaman. 

Saved as it were, by a miracle, from the jaws 
of the grave, Si-Sing was apparently doomed to 
meet death for a second, — and last time. 
Crouched on his heels, with haggard eyes, he 
awaited his end. But the fatal blow did not 
fall; a vigourous hand seized the arm of Tapou- 
Tambou just as it was about to launch its victim 
into eternity. It was Papa-Capac himself, who, 
while engaged in inspecting the battlefield, had 
been attracted by the sound of his general’s vio- 
lent voice, and had drawn near in time to prevent 
the stain of another murder disgracing his new 
government. 


THE MIRACULOUS ESCAPE OF SI-SING 125 

“Stop!” said he. “The time of slaughter is 
passed ; and the dawn of divine mercy shines in 
the sky!” 

“As long as there is left a single one of those 
yellow dogs upon earth, there will be no peace 
for the Children of the Sun!” 

“The Children of the Sun,” replied Inca dis- 
dainfully, “soar too high in the heavens to be 
aware of the existence of such a contemptible 
creature as that. What notice does the eagle of 
the mountains take of the insect squatting be- 
neath a grain of sand which suffices for its shel- 
ter and completely covers it?” 

This highly figurative language did not make 
much impression upon Tapou-Tambou; but, at 
a sign from Iri-Yaqui, he tossed away his club, 
but not without giving vent to his displeasure 
in violent words. 

“Inca,” growled he, “you are playing a dan- 
gerous game! Have your people suffered so 
long only to see the sweetness of their vengeance 
taken out of their mouths? Have we, by the 
force of our arms, shaken off the yoke of the white 


126 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

tyrants to be disciplined by a presumptuous and 
wilful young man?” 

Papa-Capac vouchsafed no reply; he made 
a slight gesture with his hand, as if to brush away 
a painful thought that pursued and irritated him, 
and turned his back contemptuously upon the 
Grand- Judge. He, beside himself with rage at 
such treatment, was about to burst forth anew, 
when Iri-Yaqui restrained him by a look. 

“Let the boy alone,” said he in a low tone of 
voice. “The time has not come to put a curb on 
his whims, and it is written that he alone is to 
conduct us to the Emerald.” 

“But this Chinaman! . . .” stammered Tapou- 
Tambou, who could not bring himself to forego 
his revenge. 

“Pooh! What do you care?” replied Iri-Ya- 
qui. “He is not worth raising a foot to 
crush! . . . Take him for a slave, and no doubt 
you can make his life harder to bear than 
death!” 

“You are always right, Iri-Yaqui,” said Ta- 
pou-Tambou, laughing brutally; “I need a cook 


THE MIRACULOUS ESCAPE OF SI-SING 127 

at this moment, he will be just the thing ! Down 
on your knees, slave!” said he, addressing Si- 
Sing, “and thank his Serene Eminence, the High 
Priest, for your life, which is granted to you at 
his request.” 

At this unexpected turn of affairs truth com- 
pels us to say that Si-Sing did not comport him- 
self with the dignity of demeanor which might 
have been expected of him. The Orientals meet 
death, when once it becomes inevitable, with an 
admirable composure; but that does not mean 
that they do not appreciate the sweetness of ex- 
istence. Si-Sing, in particular, had a deep re- 
gard for himself, and the idea of quitting life 
in the flower of his age was most distressing. On 
learning, therefore, that he was to be spared, he 
manifested the wildest joy, rolling on the ground 
in his enthusiasm. He even went so far as to 
crawl forward, and attempt to kiss the black slip- 
pers of the High Priest. But Iri-Yaqui repulsed 
him by a violent kick : 

“Away! filthy wretch!” cried he. “All the 
waters of Titicaca will not suffice to purify my 
person from your contact! . . . Begone!” 


128 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

Si-Sing, taught by experience, did not at- 
tempt to renew his offensive exhibition of grati- 
tude, but contented himself with listening 
humbly to the instruction of the fierce Tapou- 
Tambou. 

“From now on,” said he, “you are to be my 
cook. Your back and your ears will suffer if you 
fail in your duties. Remember simply that I am 
hard to please, and that I am accustomed to dine 
when the ‘red disc of the Sun touches the edge 
of the horizon.” 

Si-Sing signified that he understood, but could 
not resist hazarding an observation : 

“How will I know at what time the red disc 
of the Sun has touched the horizon, when the day 
is cloudy?” 

“That is your affair, and not mine,” said Ta- 
pou-Tambou. 

“Very good, my lord, — but one more 
question. . . . What are your favourite 
dishes? . . .” 

“Silence!” shouted the Grand-Judge: “one 
more word, and your life shall answer for it!” 


THE MIRACULOUS ESCAPE OF SI-SING 129 

Si-Sing was intimidated, but not for long. He 
was a good deal like certain children who persist 
in tormenting their elders with questions, until 
a good box on the ears suddenly closes their small 
mouths. 

“Excuse me, my dear Master,” said he pres- 
ently, in his most insinuating tones, “but may I 
not ask whether you eat with chop-sticks like the 
Chinese, or with forks like the Europeans?” 

“With my fingers, wretch!” roared Tapou- 
Tambou, and this time so great was Si-Sing’s ter- 
ror that he fled to the kitchen of his master with- 
out daring to ask any further questions. 


CHAPTER XIII 


SI-SING AS CHEF DE CUISINE 

With a master like Tapou-Tambou, it does 
not do to trifle; and with the assistance of half 
a dozen Indians, who acted as scullions, the 
major-domo went immediately to work. 

He had never prepared a dinner in his life, but 
he had great confidence in his own abilities, and 
he was of the opinion that a man, — above all a 
Chinaman, — ought to be able to accomplish any- 
thing he sets out to do. 

With such views one goes far! . . . Full of 
noble assurance, he ordered the kitchen utensils 
brought to him. They consisted of one enor- 
mous kettle of earthenware, which would contain 
four or five quarts of liquid. This was filled 
three parts full of water and placed, propped up 
by two stones, over a fire made of dried llama’s 
dung, after which nothing remained to be done 
but to assemble the ingredients for a savoury 
130 


SI-SING AS CHEF DE CUISINE I3I 

stew, something like the “navarino” of potatoes 
common among the Indians of the Sierra. 

Now, Si-Sing was a good Chinese, — an excel- 
lent Chinese, — and naturally was incapable of 
appreciating anything other than the national 
taste of China ! 

Chinese cooking was to his mind the only kind 
worthy the approval of a person of taste. He re- 
solved, therefore,- to win the esteem of his fe- 
rocious master by serving him a feast in true 
Chinese style. 

A lank, emaciated dog, which chanced to pass 
by, was seized by the new cook, and in the twin- 
kling of an eye was stripped of his skin and 
thrown into the sauce pan. Pale with horror, the 
Indians looked with staring eyes at this infernal 
commencement; but Si-Sing was not accustomed 
to consider public opinion, and with gravity and 
perfect composure he continued his operations. 

“Go find me some earth-worms,” was his next 
command. 

All the servants ran to obey, without suspect- 
ing the object of the singular order. In about 


t 


132 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

an hour they all returned, bringing with them 
enough worms to supply the fish-hooks of all the 
fishermen of the Blue River. Si-Sing signified 
that he was satisfied, and after carefully sorting 
out the plumpest, the kettle was enriched by the 
addition of a new ingredient. On the part of 
the Indians it was no longer disgust, but absolute 
consternation — which became prostration when 
they beheld Si-Sing produce a bottle of castor 
oil, and pour from it at least a couple of table- 
spoonsful into the kettle, and, after tasting the 
mixture, exhibit the liveliest satisfaction. 

“If Tapou-Tambou is not pleased with this,” 
thought he, inhaling the steam of the mixture, — 
“it must be because he has a really detestable dis- 
position!” 

At the hour when “the burning disc of the 
Sun touches the horizon” Tapou-Tambou ar- 
rived; he was, if possible, in a worse humour than 
usual. 

“Is the dinner ready?” enquired he in a voice 
hoarse with rage. 

The Chinaman bowed profoundly, smiled till 


SI-SING AS CHEF DE CUISINE 133 

the corners of his mouth almost touched his ears, 
— and lifted the lid of the kettle. 

A singular smell floated on the air . . . not 
unlike the various odours of a drug-shop. Bend- 
ing over the stew, Si-Sing sniffed with ecstacy 
the steam which escaped from it; but Tapou- 
Tambou seemed less enthusiastic. However, he 
was not prepared to decide definitely *as to the 
merits of the new cook’s “chef-d’oeuvre” without 
tasting it. 

“Serve the dinner /” said he in a commanding 
tone. 

He was obeyed with alacrity. Si-Sing himself 
selected what he deemed the most delicate mor- 
sels, and placed on his master’s plate the back of 
the dog, reposing on a soft puree of earth-worms. 

Alas ! What a dinner ! What an absolutely 
infernal dinner! Tapou-Tambou took one 
mouthful, and uttered a howl as agonized and 
prolonged as that of the dog whose remains he 
had tasted. 

In spite of his terror, Si-Sing could not help 
laughing at the effects of a real Chinese deli- 
cacy upon an Indian of the Sierra ! 


134 THE emerald of the incas 

What ignorance ! What lack of taste in these 
barbarians who were pretending to restore the 
ancient civilization of Peru ! 

It had been not so much the dog as the odour 
of the castor oil with which it was impregnated 
that had so upset the nerves of Tapou-Tambou. 

After giving vent to his rage by inarticulate 
roars, he signed to the Indians to seize the un- 
fortunate major-domo, who was forthwith 
dragged before him. 

“Wretch!” said the Grand-Judge, “you have 
tried to poison me. Confess your crime, or you 
shall die!” 

One can afford to be calm when one is inno- 
cent ! Si-Sing, his eyes raised to heaven with the 
expression of a martyr about to die for his faith, 
replied : 

“The Emperor of China, himself, never had a 
better dinner cooked. I have placed before you 
all that the most fastidious epicure could desire, 
and my only regret is that I was unable to add a 
few smoked sharks’ fins and a few birds’ nests.” 

“Do you dare to mock me?” shouted Tapou- 


SI-SING AS CHEF DE CUISINE 135 

Tambou, who, having swallowed some of the li- 
quid, began to experience some uncomfortable 
sensations. . . . “Here! my faithful body- 
guard, take him, and give him fifty blows of the 
stick on the soles of his feet. ... I mean, of 
course, fifty on each foot!” he added with a sar- 
donic smile. 

Si-Sing, whose recurring misfortunes were 
teaching him fortitude, made no resistance. 
What was the use of arguing with a man so lack- 
ing in taste as to fail to appreciate the charm of 
Celestial cookery? He was thrown on the 
ground, rather more violently than was neces- 
sary, and in this position he awaited his sentence. 
At the moment it was about to be executed, how- 
ever, a diabolical idea came into the mind of Ta- 
pou-Tambou. 

“Stop!” said he. “One hundred blows of the 
stick is too slight a punishment for this prisoner. 
I will, instead, inflict on him the tortures he im- 
tended for me, and will look on and enjoy the 
contortions of his livid countenance ! Bring the 
kettle .” 


I36 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

The utensil was brought. 

“Behold,” said he to Si-Sing, “the horrible 
mixture by means of which you endeavoured to 
send me to my ancestors! But it is you who 
will depart. ... You will go in my place! 

“You shall swallow what you have treacher- 
ously prepared for your master. Begin! Eat!” 

Tapou-Tambou expected a desperate resist- 
ance on the part of the yellow-skin ; but nothing 
of the sort! With an expression of angelic sat- 
isfaction, Si-Sing sat down cross-legged in front 
of the kettle, and, armed with an enormous 
wooden spoon, he attacked its contents. Socra- 
tes, drinking the hemlock, showed neither more 
calmness nor resignation! Tapou-Tambou 
watched him, surprised that the poison failed to 
produce more immediate effects; the scullions 
stood around watching anxiously, and persuaded 
that they would behold Si-Sing presently fall in 
convulsions. 

But the expected results did not take place. 
Nothing happened. Si-Sing accomplished his 
task imperturbably, to the very end, and the car- 


SI-SING AS CHEF DE CUISINE 137 

cass of the canine, flavoured with castor oil, dis- 
appeared in his stomach without disturbing a 
muscle of his face. 

The sicker of the two was Tapou-Tambou, 
who had but swallowed a mouthful. Without 
being able to account for the difference in its ef- 
fects upon himself and the Chinese, the Grand- 
Judge was obliged to acquit his cook of inten- 
tional wrong doing; but as he was both unjust 
and ignorant, he determined to depose Si-Sing 
from the important position of cook, and relegate 
him to the gangs of slaves, who were used to 
transport the baggage, and who took the place of 
pack-horses in the army of the Inca Papa-Capac. 


CHAPTER XIV 


A CHINAMAN AMONG THE “RABONAS” 

The Peruvian army had, at this time, no 
knowledge of the very useful system of baggage 
transport. Pack-horses are rare in the Sierras, 
and the llamas, which are employed for this pur- 
pose, are incapable of carrying heavy burdens. 
It becomes necessary, therefore, to have recourse 
to other means of transporting provisions, ammu- 
nition, and even guns ; for the Peruvian soldier, 
especially if he belongs to the Indian race, is a 
true “amateur” ... he is willing to fight, but 
disdains to perform the duties of the commissa- 
riat, and he leaves the care and the burden of his 
arms and supplies, — to his wife! 

Thus, every Peruvian army, particularly if 
operating in the Andes, is accompanied by a sec- 
ond army, — a feminine army, — less disciplined, 
but much more fully equipped, composed of a 
multitude of female comrades, — “soldatas” or 

1 33 


A CHINAMAN AMONG THE “RABONAS” I39 
“rabonas,” as they are called, who, when occa- 
sion requires, are no less brave and quite as fero- 
cious as their husbands and brothers. 

This state of things has obtained in other coun- 
tries, and in other times. In the periods of the 
great invasions, the Barbarians, who descended 
by millions upon Italy, were always followed by 
their women, who chanted their praises when vic- 
torious, and reviled them if defeated, and at 
times took part, themselves, in the combats. 

The Teutons, who were vanquished by the 
Roman Consul Marius about one hundred years 
before Christ, were less terrible to the Romans 
than their “rabonas,” — indomitable and reckless 
furies, — from whom they could only defend 
themselves by massacring them like their hus- 
bands. All honour to the rabonas of Peru, who 
perpetuate the war-like traditions of the gentler 
sex! . . . They wear for a head-dress some 
old police helmet, or perhaps nothing but their 
hair, usually quite unacquainted with the comb ; 
their clothes are indescribable rags, over which 
they fasten an old belt with a sabre and a cart- 


140 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

ridge box ; their feet have no other covering than 
that which nature provides, which has been 
toughened by tramping over the rough mountain 
paths. 

Add to the above accoutrements an ancient 
musket with a match-lock, which does not always 
work as reliably as might be wished, and you have 
a picture of the rabona, as they can be seen in the 
Peruvian Sierras today, and as they were seen at 
the time of my story, hastening in crowds to the 
camp of Papa-Capac. 

The sight of them appalled Si-Sing. Dis- 
missed abruptly from the terrestial paradise of 
T apou-T ambou’s kitchen, he was wandering 
mournfully and aimlessly about the City of De- 
mons, looking for a place to lay his head, when 
chance led him to the quarter occupied by the 
rabonas. 

Squatting around fires, which cast lurid reflec- 
tions upon their repulsive features, these fierce 
women presented a fantastic appearance; as the 
light of the flames flickered over their hideous 
countenances, and their coarse black hair strag- 


A CHINAMAN AMONG THE “RABONAS” I4I 

gling on their shoulders, they might have been 
taken, as they gesticulated wildly with their 
scrawny arms, for a band of witches making 
ready for some diabolical celebration. The co- 
lossal and strange buildings surrounding them 
added to the weird effect of the scene. 

Si-Sing, who felt his heart quake with supersti- 
tious fears, was not in a mood to be impressed 
by the picturesque ! 

“It is astonishing,” said he to himself, “that I, 
who detest complications, am always so tangled 
up in them! . . . I have but barely escaped with 
my life from the clutches of that villainous Ta- 
pou-Tambou, and here I have fallen into this 
wasp’s nest that I see no way out of ! . . . I wish 
I knew what Confucius would do to extricate 
himself from the dilemma if he were in my 
place. . . . but all these pretended sages have 
written their maxims while comfortably reposing 
on a couch, attended by a slave who refreshed 
them by gently waving a fan ! I would like to 
hear what one of them would have to say if he 
were lost in this city of the Devil at night, in the 


142 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

midst of this camp of crazy rabonas. ... I 
say confound Confucius and all the rest of 
them!” 

The soul of Si-Sing must indeed have been 
ulcerated to permit the utterance of such blas- 
phemies against his revered philosopher. But it 
must be admitted that fate had not been indul- 
gent towards him for some time past. What a 
string of misfortunes since the fatal night of his 
meeting with Papa-Capac! 

His miseries began with the loss of his spec- 
tacles, his umbrella, and his lantern; three 
“fetiches” from which he had thus far never al- 
lowed himself to be separated, and the loss of 
which poisoned his existence. Then followed the 
assault on the house of Donna Bustamente, 
wherein he had, in spite of himself, taken a some- 
what responsible part; then came the abduction 
of dear little. Candida, the march across the Cru- 
cero in the snow; the battle on the Plaza, which, 
from the outset, had turned out so disastrously 
for him personally . . . and, finally, after nar- 
rowly escaping being buried alive, here he was, 


A CHINAMAN AMONG THE “RABONAS” I43 
roaming about at the dead of night, and falling 
into the hands of these hags, whose eyes glared 
on him like wolves out of the darkness. 

When, within the memory of man, had such an 
avalanche of catastrophes ever fallen on any one 
Chinaman? 

What was to become of him? What had he 
best do? 

Si-Sing tottered from one group to another, 
like a man half drunk! He had gone too far to 
escape, and threats and growls on all sides for- 
bade him equally to think of remaining! Ex- 
clamations, which there was no mistaking, re- 
sounded on all sides. The poor fellow did his 
best to assume an air of humility, but his polite- 
ness, instead of placating the dreadful old 
women, only excited their ire still more. One 
caught him by the coat tails ; another thrust out 
her foot to trip him, a third amused herself by 
pricking him in the back with the point of her 
bayonet; and all the ladies, delighted by the un- 
expected entertainment, laughed till they waked 
the echoes of the Demon City; it needed only the 


144 THE emerald of the incas 
presence of Tapou-Tambou to make the festival 
complete ! 

Exhausted by his previous experiences, Si- 
Sing was incapable of entering with spirit into 
this last game which Dame Fortune was playing 
him, — a game in which the loss promised to be 
entirely on his side. . . . After having endured 
it as best he could for a few moments, he ended 
by staggering, like a vessel without ballast, and 
falling, fainting on the ground, while uttering 
one last despairing cry for help. From that in- 
stant he knew no more; he had a vague and 
strange impression of seeing the Senora Busta- 
mente among the faces of the women who were 
grinning diabolically around him . . . but how 
could that be*? How could the senora be altered 
all at once into a filthy, savage rabona? It 
seemed so impossible that Si-Sing felt he must 
have been mistaken; and his swoon prevented 
any further reflections. 


CHAPTER XV 


IN WHICH WE AGAIN SEE CANDIDA 

When Si-Sing recovered consciousness, he was 
lying on a mat in a lofty arched chamber, such 
as he had never before seen ; a brilliant sunlight 
shone outside, and, seated close by, and looking 
at him with a gentle, loving smile, — was Can- 
dida. 

At first he thought he must be dreaming. . . . 
But no, it was, indeed, his beloved little mistress, 
— her own lovely face, with its fine, delicate fea- 
tures, and her beautiful, large emerald eyes, from 
which suffering had not banished the angelic pur- 
ity of expression ! 

On seeing her old Si-Sing open his eyes, she 
clapped her hands joyfully: 

“There now! you are awake at last! Oh, how 
you frightened me! . . . I feared you would 
die if you were left with those people, and so my 
God-father had you brought here, and allowed 

me to nurse you till we leave.” 

145 


146 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

The Chinaman made an effort to collect his 
thoughts and he gradually regained possession 
of his senses; but his head was still burning and 
his throat parched. His kind little nurse offered 
him a potion, which, she informed him, had been 
prepared by the High Priest in person, and was 
composed of mysterious plants gathered on the 
mountains at the time of the new moon. . . . 
And as Si-Sing hesitated, feeling no great con- 
fidence in either the benevolence or the skill of 
that personage, she held the cup to his lips, say- 
ing: 

“Oh, you need not be afraid! The High 
Priest is a very kind and a very learned man. I 
should have died if he had not watched over me, 
and given me medicine. . . . My God-father 
says so, — and he knows.” 

She spoke of her persecutors with such an af- 
fectionate sweetness that Si-Sing, though not in- 
clined to be sentimental, was melted to tears. 
With an impulse of tenderness not usual with 
him, he took the hand of the little girl, — such a 
thin, little hand, on which the blue veins were so 
clearly traced, — and kissed it fondly. 


IN WHICH WE AGAIN SEE CANDIDA I47 

“Oh! the infernal scoundrels! ... to think 
of sacrificing to their degraded superstitions this 
exquisite little creature, all love and gentle- 
ness. . . . There is not in the whole world an- 
other like her!” 

Sordid and selfish as he was, Si-Sing could not 
think of such a crime without his whole being 
rising in revolt. 

“Ah! if I only had them in my hands . . . 
your God-father as well as the rest, — I’d make 
once and for all such a stew out of their car- 
casses as would be remembered forever in this 
Sierra!” 

“Sh!” . . . said Candida, laying her hand 
gently over his lips. “Let us talk about Mama : 
tell me where you left her, and when will I be 
allowed to see her? Mama ! dear Mama ! How 
sad she must be without me ! . . .” 

She burst into tears, — weeping more for her 
mother’s sorrows than for her own sufferings. 

She had been told nothing of what had oc- 
curred after the battle in the Plaza. As Si-Sing 
was silent, she grew alarmed : 


I48 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

“You do not answer, Si-Sing. Is it because 
Mama is dead, and you don’t want to tell 
me? . . . Poor Mama! Your Candida will 
soon join you!” 

“No, no!” said Si-Sing hastily, touched to the 
bottom of his heart by her words : “No, do not be 
alarmed, dear Candida. The Senora Bustamente 
is alive.” 

“She is alive? Then you must have seen 
her, — and you did not tell me! . . . You bad 
thing! I would not have believed that my old 
Si-Sing could have been so unkind!” 

The Chinese was very much embarrassed. As 
he had witnessed the battle from beneath a pile 
of corpses, it was naturally somewhat difficult 
for him to give a lucid account of the engage- 
ment. But, again, how could he leave Candida 
a prey to an anxiety so cruel, which might, in her 
weakened condition, prove fatal. It was at this 
moment that he suddenly recalled having seen, 
as in a vision, a face resembling that of Donna 
Bustamente. But could it have really been hers ? 
Could she have been there disguised as a ra- 


IN WHICH WE AGAIN SEE CANDIDA I49 

bona"? The idea was so strange that Si-Sing was 
excusable for being doubtful. The haughty wife 
of Colonel Bustamente wearing disgusting rags, 
and transformed into one of the women who fol- 
lowed the army of Papa-Capac, mingled with all 
that was low and vicious! What an extraor- 
dinary suggestion! On the whole the Chinese 
thought it more prudent to avoid a direct reply. 

“She’s alive . . . and that is all I can tell you 
at present.” 

“Did you talk with her?” asked Candida 
anxiously. “When will she come and get me? 
Why can’t she give some money to these people, 
so that they will let me go back to Tarayaqui? 
What can they want of a poor little girl like me, 
who never did them any harm?” 

“A lie is sometimes like salve to a wound!” 
says Confucius. Si-Sing could not explain to 
Candida the dark designs of the Indians and 
their fanatical leaders; he, therefore, extricated 
himself by a modification of the truth. 

“I have seen your mother,” said he; “I talked 
with her, and she sent a great deal of love to 


150 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

“Are you telling me the truth, Si-Sing?” 

“ The pure truth!” said he. 

“Oh ! how happy I am ! And when will I see 
her?” 

“Very soon. In a few days we will all be to- 
gether again at Tarayaqui. Your mother is go- 
ing to offer a great big bag full of money to your 
God-father, and as soon as he has it, all will be 
arranged, and we will be good friends again, and 
live together at Tarayaqui, when your father, the 
Colonel, comes back from the war.” 

The Chinese are admirable liars, — and Si-Sing 
was an admirable Chinese! Candida drank in 
his words without the least suspicion; her own 
nature was so truthful and sincere that she was 
incapable of suspecting deceit. 

At that moment, when Si-Sing was lying on the 
mat, leaning on his elbow, and telling his golden 
tales to the eager, happy, little child, fifty or 
more trumpets sounded a blast outside the pal- 
ace, and Papa-Capac came hastily into the room, 
followed by Iri-Yaqui, the hideous Tapou-Tam- 
bou, and a retinue of Indians. 


IN WHICH WE AGAIN SEE CANDIDA I5I 

“Get ready, Candida, — get ready. The time 
of departure has come. You must mount your 
litter.” 

Candida, full of her dreams of return, asked 
joyously: 

“Are we going back to Tarayaqui?” 

Papa-Capac made no reply; but Tapou-Tam- 
bou laughed hoarsely : 

“Tarayaqui?” said he : “we are far from there, 
— and we are going still farther! . . .” 

The disappointment was so keen that Candida 
grew white as her namesake. She pressed her 
hand on her poor little heart, and would have 
fallen had not the Inca sprung forward to sup- 
port her. 

“Tapou-Tambou,” said he furiously, “you 
shall account to me for these things some day!” 

“Whenever you please!” was the insolent re- 
ply: “The sooner the better!” 

“Leave my presence,” said the Inca. “Go, 
take your place in the ranks.” 

Tapou-Tambou hesitated, but was about to 
retire reluctantly, when he caught sight of Si- 


152 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

Sing, who, in spite of his own weakness, was en- 
deavouring affectionately to assist Candida. 
The opportunity of doing a cruel act soothed 
him. 

“I will not leave the room,” said he, “till you 
have restored my slave to me.” 

He pointed to Si-Sing, who turned pale at the 
thought of again falling into the clutches of his 
enemy. 

“Oh, God-father!” pleaded Candida: “Please 
let Si-Sing stay with me to keep me company!” 

But this time Tapou-Tambou had right on his 
side. 

“High Priest,” said he, “since the Inca will not 
do me justice, I appeal to you.” 

Without a word Iri-Yaqui gravely signified 
his assent, and Si-Sing, — pity him, kind reader, — 
was pounced upon and led from the room by his 
former master. 


CHAPTER XVI 


SI-SING MEETS THE SENORA BUSTAMENTE 

The trumpets continued to sound their deaf- 
ening summons. All was in readiness for depart- 
ure; the various companies of Indian warriors 
formed up with more regularity than would have 
been expected of troops so recently recruited, 
and, one after another, they took up the march, 
led by the Curocas. 

Si-Sing had, however, no time to admire the 
creditable discipline of Papa-Capac’s new army. 
A couple of Indians, under Tapou-Tambou s or- 
ders, seized and dragged him roughly to where 
the baggage of the army was collected, and began 
to load him with as little ceremony as if he had 
been a mule. Before he knew where he was, he 
had on his right shoulder a bag of frozen pota- 
toes, destined for the table of the Grand-Judge, 
and on his left a box of iron hammers and spikes, 
stolen from the work-shops of the railroad com- 
pany; around his neck was hung a pair of old 
153 


154 THE emerald of the incas 
boots that had belonged to Colonel Bustamente. 
He protested vehemently against being com- 
pelled to march so heavily laden, but a few blows 
from a gun-stock reconciled him to the necessity. 

Thus burdened, he took his place among the 
rabble of Chinese slaves, vagabond Indians, and 
wild women, which formed the rear guard of the 
army. This promiscuous association was even 
more distressing to him than the weight of the 
potatoes and hammers ! T o have descended from 
the position of major-domo to that of llama! . . . 
what a fall ! 

Hustled and jostled; stunned by noise, and 
half-choked by vile stenches, — Si-Sing would 
have completely lost courage had he not found 
support and consolation in the wisdom of Con- 
fucius, whom he no longer abused, but regarded 
with all his former veneration. One maxim in 
particular had the effect of preventing a resort 
to desperate extremes, which his disastrous posi- 
tion might otherwise have prompted. 

“Suicide” says the eminent Chinese moralist, 
“is the only mistake that is irreparable!” 


SI-SING MEETS THE SENOR BUSTAMENTE I55 

Si-Sing thought well of this saying, and acted 
accordingly. But this did not prevent him from 
suffering extremely, nor from daily and hourly 
cursing the fate which had brought him to this 
“infernal Sierra !” 

Between times, when he had leisure to think 
of other than his own trials, his mind turned to- 
wards his mistress, the Senora Bustamente, and 
he wondered what had become of her. 

Would he be able to recognize her, even sup- 
posing her to be among this disorderly horde of 
women, clothed in fantastic and squalid finery, — 
whose faces, under the sweat and dust of a few 
hours of travel, became undistinguishable, even 
to the most scrutinizing eye. . . . 

As for Candida, — he had lost sight of her al- 
together. She was not permitted to leave her 
litter, and each day, as they proceeded on their 
way, she was guarded with greater vigilance. 

To add to his other trials his amiable Master, 
Tapou-Tambou, whose hatred of the Chinese was 
unquenchable, had formed the habit of having 
one of them brought each day into his presence 


I56 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

after dinner and chastised, — as a sort of “des- 
sert,” or after-dinner coffee course! and the af- 
fection he cherished for his former Cook caused 
Si-Sing’s turn to come around with unusual fre- 
quency! 

One day, when worn out and lacerated in mind 
and body, he was slowly trudging along, despair 
seized him and he sank to the ground, where he 
lay under his burthen like a balky horse, refusing 
to stir. His companions, as they passed by, 
hardly bestowed a glance upon him, merely say- 
ing: 

“There is another who will make a supper for 
the crows this evening!” 

His own countrymen had never liked him, and 
were at no pains to help him in his extremity; the 
Indians had no more reason to be compassionate; 
a few tattered rabonas who straggled on at the 
extreme rear of the column, made a circle round 
him, prepared to enjoy the spectacle of his dying 
agonies; but as he seemed in no hurry to afford 
them this entertainment, they, one after another, 
ran on and left him. 


SI-SING MEETS THE SENOR BUSTAMENTE I57 

There was one, however, who remained; and 
as her ardent gaze was fixed earnestly upon him, 
it seemed to Si-Sing that the look was fa- 
miliar. . . . 

Crossing her arms on her breast, the rabona 
said gravely in excellent Spanish : 

“Get up, Si-Sing. It is a cowardly heart that 
refuses to fight to the end against misfortunes!” 

The effect was electric. Si-Sing, who was 
more discouraged than really sick, sprang to his 
feet. He had recognized the Senora by her voice 
alone, for, otherwise, she was wholly disguised, 
and Tapou-Tambou himself would have passed 
without suspecting her, dressed as she was in the 
miserable rags of a rabona. 

“Is it really you, Mistress'?” cried he. 

“Yes,” said she bitterly. “Oh, to speak more 
truthfully, it is an unfortunate rabona, who is 
following Papa-Capac, as the doe follows the 
hunter who has taken her fawn. . . .” 

“What would the Senor Bustamente say if he 
were to see you in such a condition ?” 

“It matters not. It is long since I have given 


158 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

a thought to myself or my appearance. ... I 
have that on my mind which makes it of no im- 
portance what my husband may think or 
say. ... I must save my daughter. ... Si- 
Sing, I must succeed ! And I will do so or die 
with her !” 

Si-Sing thought the latter more probable, but 
did not venture to express his opinion. The en- 
ergy of this remarkable woman exercised an ex- 
traordinary influence upon him; and when in her 
thrilling voice she said : 

“Si-Sing, I count on you to help me” ... he 
did not say “No,” though a host of objections 
were on the tip of his tongue ! On the contrary, 
he rose in silence, picked up the luggage he had 
dropped, and, once more engaged in defending 
what he fully believed to be a hopeless cause, he 
followed obediently the footsteps of the Senora, 
who, with head erect, walked on as proud and 
resolute as when, in her home in Tarayaqui, she 
was served and honoured by all as the wife of the 
Engineer, Colonel Gaspard Melchoir Busta- 
mente. 


CHAPTER XVII 


AT THE ENTRANCE TO THE “HOLY QUEBRADA” 

Three weeks after the events narrated, the 
army of Papa-Capac, having crossed without op- 
position the heights of Huilnacota, arrived at the 
entrance to the Quebrada of Cuzco. 

This “quebrada” (or wild valley) begins 
about thirty-six miles south of the city of Cuzco. 
It is a series of steep, lofty crags on which the 
summer scatters a few flowers, but which in win- 
ter produces an impression of deadly and savage 
desolation. 

The soil, which is of volcanic origin, still bears 
marks of the convulsions which have taken place 
there; one treads on a bed of fine ashes, which 
each breath of air causes to rise in blinding whirl- 
winds ; torrents flow in the depths of vast basaltic 
chasms, compared to which the natural marvels 
of Europe seem like children’s playthings; and 
what were once the craters of extinct volcanoes 


159 


l60 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

now hold lakes whose waters no lead has ever 

sounded. 

But these features of the quebrada are more 
or less common to all volcanic regions, and count 
for little compared with a peculiarity much more 
unusual and striking. I allude to the endless 
and extraordinary interlacement of the valleys 
in this portion of the Sierra. 

Some are too narrow to admit of two persons 
walking abreast, and, looking up between the 
overhanging rocks, which almost meet above, one 
sees only a narrow strip of sky, — as if from the 
bottom of a well. Others, much larger, are en- 
cumbered with masses of stone, over which the 
waters rush in furious torrents at the season of 
melting snow. 

All are wild, tortuous, and twisted together 
like a nest of serpents. The dread of losing one’s 
way here, as in the catacombs, deprives the trav- 
eler of the pleasure he would otherwise derive 
from the curious objects surrounding him. 

Never was a region better adapted to be a 
refuge for outlaws and exiles seeking shelter in 
its inextricable recesses. 


THE ENTRANCE TO THE “HOLY QUEBRADA” l6l 

It was here that the last defenders of Peruvian 
independence in the 16th Century made their 
final stand, and held the proud “Conquistadores” 
in check for a long time. 

And now, behold! the “Quebrada” is waking 
from its long sleep of centuries. Its echoes call 
to each other the name of a new Inca. The Tor- 
rent asks of the Trees, which it uproots, “Have 
the Tyrants departed*?” . . . 

It was in the Quebrada of Cuzco that the an- 
cient monarchs of Peru concealed their treasures ; 
at least, so says Tradition; and it also tells that, 
far down, in the darkness of an inaccessible cav- 
ern, the old Incas, transformed to mummies, rest 
in tranquil repose, safe from the profanation of 
all invaders. 

Yes, so says tradition, and white men have 
sought in vain to turn the legend to profit. Mul- 
titudes, armed with picks and dark lanterns, have 
started to explore the Quebrada in the wild hope 
of returning laden with the riches of the old 
world. 

Ah, the Mummies of the Incas must have 


162 the emerald OF THE INCAS 
smiled to each other in the cave where they await 
the eternal resurrection! ... Not one of all 
those who started forth so gaily on these expedi- 
tions ever returned to tell the tale ; they were like 
“Cassim” in the story of Ali-Baba, who went to 
seek the robber’s cave, — and was never heard of 
more! 

Their friends waited for them, weeks, — 
months, — years; they were seen no more, and ex- 
peditions of rescue found nothing but their picks 
and their lanterns . . . their bodies had disap- 
peared forever. 

The Quebrada of Cuzco has been faithful to 
the Incas whose royal feet once trod its path in 
triumph; it holds in its solitudes a spell, and has 
no mercy on the whites who dare to invade its 
enchanted valleys. 

Pitiless to the “gold-seekers” who venture to 
violate its sanctity, it is kind and hospitable to 
the Indians who come to find refuge in its bosom. 
To them it opens its motherly arms, — hides them 
in its secret windings, — and never fails to afford 
them rest, health and freedom. 


THE ENTRANCE TO THE “HOLY QUEBRADA” 163 

“O Holy Quebrada!” cried the High Priest, 
as the army of the Inca was about to enter its dark 
shadows : “Holy Quebrada ! those who know you 
not say that you are like other mountains, — that 
you are but senseless stone ! Let such blaspheme 
at their will. Those whom you have succoured 
in their need, know better! Voiceless and deaf 
to the white man who strikes you insolently with 
his iron, you stir, you thrill, — you live, when the 
footstep of an Indian, sounds in your solitudes. 
Rejoice! O Sacred Mountains! The reign of 
the white man is ended, and the Inca Papa-Capac 
comes, like a dutiful son, to ask humbly for the 
Sacred Emerald confided to your care by his an- 
cestors. If the Inca finds favour in your heart, — 
if his cause is just and right, — reveal to us by a 
sign, — an unmistakable omen, — that you have 
heard, and wilt grant our prayer. Oh, Holy Que- 
brada, behold ! we kneel before thee ; speak, and 
tell us where for three centuries thou hast hidden 
the sacred Stone from the greed of the Spaniard, 
— the sacred Emerald of the divine Manco-Ca- 
pac! . . . 


J5 


CHAPTER XVIII 


THE SOUL OF MANCO-CAPAC 

Thus spoke Iri-Yaqui, the High Priest, at the 
entrance of the sacred “Quebrada of Cuzco/’ 
standing on the border of Lake Mohina, into 
which, in ancient times, the Indians, finding 
themselves conquered by the Spaniards, threw 
the famous “Golden Chain/’ eight hundred yards 
long, which the Inca Huayana-Capac had made 
to celebrate the first hair-cutting of his eldest son, 
Huascar. 

Thus spoke Iri-Yaqui, and the people listened 
to him in silence, devoutly kneeling, while the 
Inca Papa-Capac, sanding erect, as he alone was 
privileged by birth and rank to do, reverently 
bowed his head. 

And the “Quebrada” heard his prayer. 

As he ended his invocation, a cloud, — coming 
none could see from where, — appeared in the 
bright skies, and interposed its form between the 
earth and the Sun. 

164 


THE SOUL OF MANCO-CAPAC 165 

At the same moment a shadow passed over the 
Lake, where it is said the great links of the 
“Golden Chain” can still be seen glittering, 
coiled in the depths like a gigantic boa. 

The cloud was at such a prodigious height that 
it was impossible to distinguish its shape with 
accuracy. And for the same reason it appeared 
as if motionless, although in reality it was de- 
scending from on high with a lightning-like 
speed. 

As it drew near its outline grew distinct, and 
its size was seen to be gigantic. 

That which at a distance had seemed- to be a 
cloud was none other than a monstrous bird of 
prey, whose tremendous outspread wings seemed 
vast enough to overshadow the entire Indian 
army. 

The creature descended to within about fifty 
yards of the earth, and then, arresting its flight, 
it poised itself, majestic and powerful, directly 
above the litter in which Candida was reclining. 

The bird could now be observed distinctly. It 
was a Royal Condor of extraordinary size. The 


l66 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

fabulous “Roc” of the Arabian Tales, reputed 
able to lift and carry off a rhinoceros in its talons, 
is not more formidable. 

No omen could be more favourable to the In- 
dians than this apparition of the Royal Condor, 
— the sacred emblem of their Incas, who alone 
were permitted to indulge in hunting it, and 
whose souls after death were believed to be fre- 
quently incarnated in these giants of the Sierras. 

The Condor rarely quits the region of eternal 
snow; only a mandate from the Gods themselves 
could have dispatched this one from his inacces- 
sible haunts, where throughout the year he reigns 
with his brothers, amid storms and avalanches. 

Adroit in forming auguries from the flight of 
birds, the High Priest triumphantly addressed 
the people. 

“Children of Inti-Churi,” cried he : “the Holy 
Quebrada has heard my prayer! The Soul of 
Manco-Capac has appeared in the heavens, and 
claims the human sacrifice promised to him. See, 
how he hovers over the young white maiden 


THE SOUL OF MANCO-CAPAC 167 

whom fate has chosen for the victim. Woe! 
woe to him who dare defraud him of his prey! 
Inca, the time to go forward has arrived. . . . 
The path to the sacred Emerald is open! . . 

Filled with savage exultation, his long hair 
falling over his black robe, he pointed to the co- 
lossal bird, brooding over its victim. 

As he finished speaking the Royal Condor 
flapped his huge wings, and slowly resumed his 
flight ; but this time he soared straight onward, — 
without increasing the distance which separated 
him from the earth. 

And now Papa-Capac, seized in his turn by the 
religious enthusiasm, which illuminated the 
wrinkled face of Iri-Yaqui, raised his golden 
mace with a gesture of command; the trumpets 
sounded; the bearers of Candida’s litter sprang 
forward, followed by the Priestesses of the Sun, 
who now never left the young girl; the body- 
guard surrounding the Inca moved next, and all 
the numerous companies of which the army was 
composed took up the march, with a blind confi- 
dence of arriving at the destination, as yet un- 


l68 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

known, to which they were being conducted by 
the Soul of Manco-Capac, incarnated in the 
Royal Condor. 


CHAPTER XIX 


THE EVE OF THE SACRIFICE 

On ! on ! through the wild and unknown region 
where is hidden the Sacred Emerald ! 

For three days and nights they have marched 
without resting; the Condor has never quitted 
the head of the column. Rut through what wild 
and fearful passes has he led them, and how 
well suited is this place of death and solitude to 
the sacrifice which is to be made ! 

Trees, which are rare in the other districts of 
the Sierra, are here wholly absent. 

The surface of the rocks, swept bare by the 
action of torrents, has lost almost all of the soil 
which once covered them, and only a few stunted 
plants grow here and there on the sides of the 
abysses. 

Where are they going? God alone knows! 
The depth of the ravines, through which they are 
obliged to march in single file, is terrifying; and 

169 


170 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

the oldest and most daring mountaineers scarcely 
dare to raise their eyes from their foothold to the 
sky, where, far ahead, the Condor appears like a 
black spot. 

Some of these gorges are cut in the rock to such 
immense depths that the loftiest peaks of the. 
Pyrenees could be entirely hidden in them. And 
a handful of resolute men could hold in check an 
army, which they could destroy by loosening and 
hurling down on it the overhanging masses of 
stone. 

No such fear disturbed Iri-Yaqui and his In- 
dians; they have faith in the protection of the 
Quebrada, and this desolate, burnt-up country is 
to them the entrance to the “promised land.” 

On ! On ! to the fearful region where is hidden 
the Sacred Emerald! 

Each step brings Papa-Capac nearer to the 
jewel on which his fortune depends; and each 
step brings Candida nearer to death. 

The fourth day of the journey was drawing to 
a close when, at last, the Condor, soaring at the 
head of the army, paused. 


THE EVE OF THE SACRIFICE I7I 

The majestic bird, who, since their departure 
from Lake Mohina, had never stopped to rest, 
now alighted on the pinnacle of a tall crag. 
Three times he flapped his monstrous wings, 
sending a chill wind down to the faces of the 
Indians. Then he became motionless; not a 
tremor stirred his great form; his round eyes, 
speckled with gold, gazed fixedly off into space ; 
he might have been taken for a huge effigy in 
bronze, the work of some unknown artist. . . . 

The place chosen for the halt was dark and 
forbidding. It was an open space buried in the 
shadows of high mountains which encircled it. 

A large block of porphyry rose in the centre; 
and all who looked on it knew it at once as the 
“Stone of Sacrifice/ 5 

Iri-Yaqui, after consulting the oracles, pro- 
nounced the fatal decree; Candida had but one 
more night to live; she must die the following 
day at the moment when Inti-Churi, at his ze- 
nith, should strike his rays upon the Stone of 
Sacrifice. 

The arrangements for the night were soon 


172 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

made, and all awaited the coming of the great 
day. Camped with no attempt at order, — some 
even in the dried bed of streams, — the Indians 
lighted great fires, and, warmly wrapped in their 
ponchos, spent the night in gambling and 
drinking “chica.” 

From his lofty perch, the Royal Condor, mute 
and unmoving, watched over the camp. 

The shadows of the Indians, immeasurably 
magnified, were reflected by the fire-light on the 
smooth, rocky walls of the mountain. In a spot 
a little removed could be heard the murmuring 
voices of the gentle Priestesses of the Sun, who 
were spending the night with Candida, and 
striving tenderly to cheer and support her last 
hours. These poor young girls, kind, but ignor- 
ant, had not the audacity to rebel against the 
sentence of the High Priest; they did better, — 
they wept for the victim, and she, who retained 
her composure, was obliged to console them. 
Yet it was a comfort to her loving heart to know 
that she was not to die abandoned and un- 
mourned, and that there were those among the 


THE EVE OF THE SACRIFICE 1 73 

people who were sacrificing her to their bloody 
superstition who would weep for her, and cherish 
her memory. 

Towards midnight the Priestesses, one after 
another, fell asleep, and she herself, worn out, 
sank to slumber beside the embers of the fire. 

She had not been long asleep, — as she saw 
later by the not yet burned-out faggots, — when 
she felt a light touch on her shoulder, and a well- 
known voice whispered tenderly : 

“My daughter . . ” 

She rose quickly, and was about to speak when 
the little hand, firm and slender, of Donna Bust- 
amente was pressed on her lips. At this, without 
further movement, for fear of attracting atten- 
tion, she merely raised her eyes and looked at 
her mother by the dim light of the fire. As she 
did so her heart sank, and tears rushed to her 
eyes. Oh ! how her mother had changed ! How 
anguish had hollowed her temples and dimmed 
her eyes ; she had thrown a coarse shawl over her 
head, and some locks of hair escaped from be- 
neath it, — those beautiful tresses, so black, so 


174 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

lustrous, of which the Senora had been so proud, 
— were gray. But what most pained the child 
was the expression of utter despair, which 
marked the face once so proud and handsome. 

“Mother, oh, poor Mother!” sobbed she. 

“Be still, child, and listen,” said Maria Busta- 
mente in a low voice, with her accustomed brief, 
firm manner. “For three weeks I have watched 
over you, hidden and mingled with that vile crew 
of slaves and rabonas . . . Oh, shame and 
misery! . . . But, no matter! For your sake I 
would go to the gates of the infernal regions. 
No one has recognized me in this disguise of an 
Indian woman, — no one but Si-Sing!” 

“Good old Si-Sing!” murmured Candida, re- 
calling for a moment the major-domo. . . . 

“Twenty times we have tried, Si-Sing and I, 
to carry you off. But the wretches keep close 
guard, and we had to give it up. But there is no 
longer any possibility of delay . . . and tomor- 
row will see our triumph or the death of both 
of us. If I succeed, there are those here who will 
have a fearful reckoning to pay!” 


THE EVE OF THE SACRIFICE 1 75 

“Mother! . . . Oh, Mother! . . pleaded 
the young girl. 

“Silence! I think I hear some one stir- 
ring. . . . No; all is still. Listen, for time 
presses. Do not be afraid, my own darling ! We 
will save you tomorrow. If there were but just 
ourselves, — if Si-Sing and I were alone, we 
would be powerless. But our former Chinese sol- 
diers, who were taken prisoners by these scoun- 
drels, are weary of blows and hunger. I have 
talked with them, and have encouraged them to 
hope, and they have promised once more to fight 
for me and mine. Inferior as they are in num- 
bers, despair will give us the victory.” 

Here, restless, and turning her haggard glance 
towards the shadows, where the young priestesses 
slept beside the dying fires, the Senora stopped 
for a moment, then clasping her daughter pas- 
sionately to her bosom, she continued : 

“If I could have fled with you without risking 
a battle, oh ! be sure I would have done so. But, 
although every night since we entered this hor- 
rible desert I have hung about your litter till 


176 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

morning, no chance has offered. Now the die is 
cast, — it must be a battle. And I must, like a 
man, fight for my life, and what is a thousand 
times dearer to me than life. . . . Poor child! 
You are little and frail for the part we have to 
play, — and the life we have had to face! Oh, 
cursed, cursed Peru ! . . . I have found nothing 
but misery on your soil, — nothing but treachery 
and cruelty!” 

“Mama! do not say so! It is the country of 
dear Papa, and is it not also the country of your 
own Candida!” 

“You are right. Anyway, laments are vain, — 
the wind carries them off. One word more be- 
fore I go. Be ready for anything. Try to keep 
cool, and hide this stiletto in your breast; even 
in your little hands it may be serviceable. But 
I think the shadows are growing less black; a lit- 
tle light begins to show in the sky. Courage, my 
child ! . . . Courage, — and farewell !” 

Candida held out her arms to embrace her 
mother once more, — but she had vanished. Step- 
ping noiselessly over the sleeping Indians, she re- 


THE EVE OF THE SACRIFICE 1 77 

joined Si-Sing to prepare for the uprising, of 
which Tapou-Tambou had no suspicion, as he lay 
sleeping like a log. 


CHAPTER XX 


poor Candida! 

The morning, which dawned radiant and se- 
rene, found the Royal Condor in his place. 

Facing the Sun, the mysterious bird fixed his 
savage eyes, without blinking, upon its brilliant 
orb. Motionless, and never stirring, he saw, 
without appearing to notice, the preparations for 
the sacrifice that were being made below. 

The priests of the Sun, led by Iri-Yaqui in per- 
son, made the rounds of the fatal stone three 
times, chanting a wild and solemn hymn. Each 
then placed a tress of his hair upon the altar, and 
their example was followed by all the nobles, be- 
ginning with Papa-Capac, whose livid face and 
burning eyes betrayed his mental suffering. 

A black lamb of six months, which was marked 
by a white star on its forehead, was next led be- 
fore the High Priest. It was observed as a fav- 
ourable omen that it made no resistance, but sank 
178 


poor Candida! 179 

on the ground upon its knees of its own accord. 

A single blow of the hatchet terminated its ex- 
istence. Its entrails, thrown on a blazing fire, 
crackled and emitted sparks, which were closely 
scrutinized by Iri-Yaqui. 

When all was consumed, he seemed satisfied, 
and ordered the principal organs of the animal to 
be placed before him. This done, he knelt and 
prayed for a long time in the midst of a respect- 
ful silence, and when he at last rose his face was 
radiant. 

“Inca,” cried he, “rejoice ! Inti-Churi favours 
thee ! Hear what the Gods reveal by my voice ! 
This block of porphyry conceals the entrance to 
the Cavern where are interred the Incas, thy An- 
cestors; and thou shalt learn by the mouth of 
Manco-Capac himself the spot where lies the sa- 
cred Emerald.” * 

“Dost thou say so, Priest? . . . Then the sac- 
rifice of Candida is needless !” 

“My Son,” replied Iri-Yaqui, “the learning of 
the whites blinds thee. No human strength will 
avail to move that stone, which you look upon 


l80 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

so disdainfully; but it will of itself move aside, 
and make way for the descendant of Manco-Ca- 
pac as soon as it is moistened with the blood of 
the victim.” 

“Imbecile superstition!” exclaimed the Inca 
violently. 

“Blaspheme if you will. . . . But make the 
trial,” replied the High Priest with calmness; 
“the words of man will not prevail against the 
decrees of the Eternal!” 

“Here, guards!” commanded the Inca: “see 
that the people bring spades and picks, and dig 
the ground about this stone.” 

Soon an army of Indians were engaged in turn- 
ing up the soil ; but each effort seemed to settle it 
more firmly in its resting place; and after an 
hour of work by one hundred men the stone had 
not been dislodged by so much as a hair’s breadth. 

“Go, bring ropes and harness all our mules !” 
said the Inca. 

He was obeyed; but the mules accomplished 
no more than had been achieved by the men. 

Iri-Yaqui smiled; the Inca was furious: 


poor Candida! 


181 

“If I can not move it, — I will blow it up!” 
shouted he. 

Then, full of confidence in his efforts to save 
his God-child, he ordered every soldier to bring 
what powder he had, and gave directions to lay 
mines under the corners of the stone. 

When all was in readiness, the fuse was fired ; 
a terrific explosion followed, which caused every- 
one to recoil. When the smoke cleared away, 
they saw, with amazement, that the block of 
porphyry had not stirred. It stood as firm as be- 
fore, not even a mark of injury could be seen on 
its smooth, polished surface. . . . 

The trial was conclusive. Iri-Yaqui, calm and 
triumphant, pointed to the Sun, whose rays 
touched the edge of the mountain : 

“The Hour has come !” said he. 

Immediately a tumultuous blare of trumpets, 
horns and drums burst forth. The sounds were 
intended to drown the shrieks of the victim, but 
in this instance were unnecessary. 

She came forward slowly; pale, but without 
fear. She gently motioned aside the Priestesses 


182 the emerald OF THE INCAS 
of the Sun, who had advanced to assist and sus- 
tain her. She had dressed for the last time in a 
simple robe of white, which fell in folds down to 
her little bare feet, and her beautiful hair flowed 
in waves of gold over her shoulders. So gentle 
and resigned was she that it had not been deemed 
necessary to bind her arms. 

When arrived at the place of execution, she, 
for the first time, raised her eyes, — the beautiful 
emerald eyes, which had been so largely the 
cause of her destruction! . . . and, looking 
down at the crowd about her, she said with a 
heavenly smile that drew tears from all who were 
near enough to see it : 

“I forgive you all for my death; may you live 
free and happy, in our dear Country!” 

Then, having glanced with unspeakable sad- 
ness towards Papa-Capac, who hid his face in his 
hands, she knelt before the High Priest, saying : 

“I am ready, Senor: do with me as you 
please.” 

But it was not the part of the High Priest to 
consummate the bloody tragedy. The rites of 


poor Candida! 183 

the ancient religion of Peru placed this horrible 
obligation upon the Inca, and Papa-Capac, re- 
called to his duty by Iri-Yaqui, took the sacred 
knife in his trembling hand. 

On seeing him approach, the young girl, who 
had lain down upon the altar of sacrifice, raised 
herself slightly, and said in that soft, gentle 
voice, which had been once the sweetest music 
to him, and was now the most horrible condemna- 
tion: 

“Poor God-father! ... Is it you who have 
to kill me?” 

The simple words suffocated him, tears rushed 
to his eyes, — and, staggering like a drunken man, 
— he cried : 

“No ! No ! — I cannot kill thee!” 

At this moment shouts broke forth among the 
crowd; pistol shots were heard; a bullet, fired by 
Si-Sing, whizzed past the ear of Tapou-Tambou; 
a rabona, who was not at first recognized as the 
Senora, bounded like a tigress onto the stone of 
sacrifice, and struck madly with her dagger at 
the High Priest. Iri- Y aqui tottered, — and sank 
to the ground. 


184 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

An indescribable tumult and confusion en- 
sued, in the midst of which little Candida 
swooned where she lay on the Altar. Papa-Ca- 
pac, crouched in a corner, seemed dazed; while 
the High Priest, whom some of his faithful fol- 
lowers vainly attempted to succour, expired at 
the feet of the intrepid mother whose adored 
child he had schemed to destroy. 

Surprised for a moment, the Indians were 
quick to perceive the small numbers of their as- 
sailants, and, led by Tapou-Tambou, they fought 
fiercely and well. Si-Sing, on his part, performed 
prodigies of valour. The fat major-domo had 
grown wonderfully thin, owing to his many mis- 
fortunes, and he laid about him, right and left 
among his former employees, accompanying his 
blows by remarks that would have astonished 
Confucius. . . . For some time the battle con- 
tinued, without apparent advantage to either 
side. The narrowness of the valley was greatly 
in favour of Donna Bustamente; and a goodly 
number of Indians, observing the inaction of 
Papa-Capac, were looking about for some means 


poor Candida! 185 

of retreat, — when, suddenly, the combatants felt 
the earth tremble under their feet . In an instant 
all around them seemed to be moving! The 
ground on which they stood opened in long, 
yawning chasms. The mountains rocked on their 
foundations, and split in monstrous crevasses, 
with fearful noises. The “Quebrada” seemed on 
the point of crumbling away! . . . Great 
masses of rock, detached from the summits, fell 
like fragments of ill-constructed walls. Far off 
could be heard the roar of torrents, bursting forth 
from subterranean abysses, and rushing onward 
with terrifying swiftness . . . and the earth, 
convulsed by a series of unequal shocks, resemb- 
ling the laboured throbbings of a diseased heart, 
— seemed as if struggling to rid itself of the mis- 
erable creatures contending for its possession ! 

In such an appalling upheaval of nature both 
the Chinese and the Indians stopped, terror- 
stricken ; blinded by a dense darkness, which sud- 
denly covered the valley, they were unable even 
to see each other. 

In the obscurity Donna Bustamente shrieked 


l86 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

the name of her daughter, in vain, — she obtained 
no answer; Si-Sing roared in Chinese; the In- 
dians yelled in quicha, — and in the confusion 
and panic all thought of fighting was abandoned. 

All at once the earthquake shocks ceased; the 
dark mist, which had shrouded the face of the 
sun, cleared away; the fog lifted, and in the 
bright space of sky now visible, the Royal Condor 
was seen, soaring aloft, clutching in his mighty 
talons the unconscious form of the young girl. 


CHAPTER XXI 


RESCUED BY PAPA-CAPAC 

The bird soared slowly and majestically up- 
ward, and the young girl, whose golden hair 
glittered in the sunlight, made no effort to re- 
lease herself. 

Should the Condor reach the upper peaks of 
the Sierra, hidden in the clouds, — Candida was 
lost forever. 

But such did not seem to be his intention ; dis- 
daining the shots aimed at him (which Donna 
Bustamente at once ordered to cease), he bore 
his prey to the crag, which he had quitted a few 
moments before. 

The earth-shocks, which for a brief interval 
had ceased, now recommenced with increased 
violence ; the Indians, appalled at what they be- 
lieved to be the expression of divine displeasure, 
fled in all directions; Tapou-Tambou, who 
feared no living man, lay prostrate, his face on 
187 


l88 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

the ground, in supplication to Inti-Churi, while 
Donna Bustamente, completely overcome by this 
last blow of fate, abandoned herself to despair. 

Papa-Capac alone retained his presence of 
mind. The fearful peril of his God-child aroused 
him from the stupor in which he, for a few mo- 
ments, had been plunged. He did not hesitate 
for an instant, but seizing a bow and arrow from 
the grasp of a dead Indian, he sprang forward, 
alert and agile, prepared to ascend the moun- 
tain. 

The attempt to scale such a stupendous wall 
of rock as confronted him, smooth as glass, and 
more than three hundred feet high, would, in or- 
dinary times, have seemed the act of a madman. 

But the earthquake had shaken the prodigious 
mass of rock, and had opened, here and there, fis- 
sures that might afford a foothold. Raised in the 
Sierra, accustomed in early youth to risk his life 
with the young shepherds on the most perilous 
slopes of the Crucero, and possessing the cool 
head and steady nerve of an accomplished moun- 
taineer, a rest for the tip of his foot was all that 
Papa-Capac would require. 


RESCUED BY PAPA-CAPAC 189 

Those who watched him from below, ascend- 
ing with assured and even strides, forgot for the 
moment their own danger, so incredible and 
superhuman did the undertaking seem to them. 

But there was a sentiment, which, known only 
to himself, inspired the Inca; awakened from the 
dreams of ambition, which had blinded him, he 
saw with terrible clearness the sins of his past, — 
and with equal clearness he resolved to atone for 
them. 

Executioner, — assassin, less from cruelty than 
from weakness, the hour of expiation for him had 
struck ! 

When at last he attained the summit of the 
gigantic wall, he was careful not to permit him- 
self to be visible. Stretched on the ground be- 
hind a rampart of rock, he warily thrust forward 
his head, and looked. . . . 

The sight which met his eyes almost unnerved 
him. The monstrous bird stood, towering its full 
height, above the body of his victim, and his 
enormous wings, like the sails of a vessel, were 
spread out over Candida, who lay wholly uncon- 


190 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

scious of the monster who held her in his clutches. 

The jagged points of the rock had wounded 
her delicate temples, and a slender stream of 
blood was trickling and staining the gold of her 
hair. 

At the sight of the innocent child whom he had 
so wronged, and whose pitiable position was the 
result of his own acts, Papa-Capac felt more 
keenly than ever the stab of remorse. . . . He 
seized an arrow, fitted it hastily on the bow- 
string, and took aim. The whole front of the 
Condor was exposed, and offered an excellent 
target. The arrow whistled through the air, and 
struck, with its sharp point of stone, right on the 
breast of the bird. He uttered a loud, hoarse cry 
that awoke Candida ; and when she saw the great 
eyes of yellow fire, and the terrible beak of steel 
bending over her, she also shrieked, — a cry of su- 
preme agony and terror. And, as if the spirit of 
her old Corsican ancestors had at last stirred 
within her, she struck at the creature with all her 
strength, using the stiletto, which her mother 
had given to her. 


RESCUED BY PAPA-CAPAC 191 

The attack was so sudden, and so unexpected, 
that the Condor was startled, and drew back a 
short distance ; this gave Papa-Capac time to rush 
forward, and sheltering the young girl in his 
arms, he took from her the dagger, and stood 
ready to defend her from any further attack of 
her enemy. 

It was unnecessary. The giant bird of the 
Sierra, whose blood in falling had mingled with 
that of Candida on the rocky crag, uttered once 
more a scream that was heard for miles, and then, 
flapping his wings, he slowly sailed away, and 
disappeared in the dark recesses of the Quebrada. 


CHAPTER XXII 


THE MYSTERIOUS STAIRWAY 

Candida’s wound, though it had bled freely, 
was, in reality, very slight, and in no way danger- 
ous. She threw herself joyfully into the arms of 
her God-father, and thanked him with the most 
loving words for having saved her life. Their 
first thought was to go in search of the Senora 
Bustamente, but what was their astonishment to 
perceive exactly on the spot upon which the blood 
of the young girl had fallen, and mixed with that 
of the Royal Bird, an opening in the rock, which 
certainly had not been visible a few moments be- 
fore ! It was circular in shape, and large enough 
to admit of the passage of a man, and Papa-Ca- 
pac, on bending over to examine it, discovered 
the upper portion of a staircase, which seemed to 
descend in a spiral, downwards into the bowels 
of the earth. 

Instantly the old predictions of Iri-Yaqui, in 

Ip2 


THE MYSTERIOUS STAIRWAY 193 

regard to the sprinkling of the victim’s blood, re- 
curred to his memory, and he did not doubt for a 
moment that he had before his eyes the entrance 
to the burial chamber, where, by the all-power- 
ful decree of Inti-Churi, the Imperial Emerald 
had been hidden for centuries, together with the 
mummies of his ancestors, the Incas. 

An ardent curiosity seized him to explore to 
its depths this dwelling-place of the dead, and 
the ambitions which he believed himself in good 
faith to have renounced, resumed immediately 
all their former empire over his feeble and vacil- 
lating soul. 

Taking the hand of his God-child, he drew her 
at once to the entrance, and as she made no re- 
sistance, they began the descent of the abyss so 
strangely opened at their feet by a supernatural 
power. 

They proceeded slowly, and the pale light 
from above grew more and more uncertain as 
they continued ; the steps were too narrow to al- 
low them to walk together, and the Inca, who 
went first, turned from time to time to reassure 
his little companion. 


194 THE emerald of the incas 

She appeared to have forgotten the past, and 
replied by a gentle smile, which seemed to say, 
“What have I to fear, now that I am once more 
in your care?” 

So little was she disturbed by anxiety that she 
amused herself by counting the steps. At each 
hundred she clapped her hands in child-like glee, 
and was rather disappointed when, at the three 
hundredth step, the stairs ended. 

Here they found themselves in a vast cavern, 
in the form of a star, which, as soon as they en- 
tered, ceased to be dark, and was lighted up in- 
stantly by a soft radiance, which did not seem to 
issue from any one point, but to be generally dif- 
fused, and was of so lovely a character that it ap- 
peared to caress the sight, rather than dazzle it ! 

“Oh! where are we, God-father? . . . What 
is this place?” asked the young girl in awe-struck 
tones. But the Inca was no wiser than the child. 

The cavern was a sort of centre, from which 
radiated nine arched passageways or tunnels, 
such as in former ages were pierced by the Incas 
in their Gold-mines. 


THE MYSTERIOUS STAIRWAY I95 

These nine gloomy openings, gaping like dark 
mouths, before them, filled with strange, menac- 
ing shadows, seemed to Papa-Capac to threaten 
new and mysterious perils, and he determined to 
push his investigations no further, but to retrace 
his steps at once, and return to the upper world. 

But he found this was not the easy matter he 
had supposed it to be ! A fresh convulsion of na- 
ture had evidently taken place, and the opening 
through which they had descended had disap- 
peared in a series of subterranean shocks, the 
echoes of which resounded through the cavern. 
All return to the surface of the earth by their 
original path was impossible. 

Papa-Capac was horrified; not for himself, 
for he had long since ceased to consider his per- 
sonal safety, — but for the unfortunate child, 
who, after escaping so many dangers, was now to 
be enclosed in this living tomb ! . . . 

He strove, however, not to abandon hope en- 
tirely. He must spare no effort to save Candida, 
and if, as he suspected, they were at this moment 
in an ancient and unused mine, some one of the 


196 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

many tunnels would surely lead them back to 
the outside world. But which one"? How was 
he to ascertain which of the nine passages would 
prove the lucky one? 


CHAPTER XXIII 


THE SUBTERRANEAN TEMPLE AND THE SACRED 
EMERALD 

As he hesitated, perplexed, and holding the 
little girl’s trembling hand in his, he noticed a 
faint gleam of light, far off, in the depths of one 
of the corridors. At first it was only a dim, un- 
certain illumination; but in a few seconds it 
shone out brilliantly, like an arc light, and 
flooded all the gallery with its radiance. 

Here was safety! The Inca, hurrying the 
young girl with him, plunged hastily in this di- 
rection; and, after walking a distance of about 
fifteen hundred feet, a marvelous sight met their 
eyes. 

Imagine hidden in the bowls of the earth a 
Hall of colossal magnitude, — larger and loftier 
than the grandest of our cathedrals. N o columns 
intercepted the view or restricted it in any direc- 
tion. No windows broke the immense surface of 
the walls, which upheld the massive edifice. No 
197 


198 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

small, trivial details were to be seen anywhere, 
no graceful ornamentation, — but everywhere a 
majestic construction, — vast and stupendous, — 
giving an impression of eternal duration. 

At the distant end of the Hall shone a gigantic 
Sun, whose rays, fashioned of the purest gold, 
emitted a dazzling splendour. 

In the interstices of the huge blocks of which 
the walls were composed, there sparkled rows 
upon rows of precious stones, which caught and 
reflected the effulgence of the golden Sun, and 
their innumerable lines seemed to run in rivers 
of fire down to the pavement of rare onyx 
studded with diamonds. 

This was the burial chamber, or vault, of the 
ancient Incas. It was here that they rested in 
state, under the eye of their Father, Manco-Ca- 
pac, — “Child of the Sun,” the first of the line 
of Incas who had reigned over Peru. 

They are all there, seated in two ranks, oppo- 
site each other along the walls. Their bodies 
have not been insulted by enclosure in coffins of 
wood or stone ; such as they were in life, such they 


THE SUBTERRANEAN TEMPLE I99 

are today; seated on tall thrones of rare woods 
inlaid with pearl or ivory; they hold in their 
right hand a golden sceptre set with rubies and 
amethysts; a mask of gold conceals their fea- 
tures ; their mouths are slightly open, and if their 
eyes were not hidden by the plate of gold placed 
upon them by the embalmer, one would imagine 
they were about to speak. 

Behind each one stands a portrait statue of 
gold, in natural size, and striking in its re- 
semblance to the seated sovereign, over whom it 
seems to watch with solicitude. 

Between these statues and the wall is a deep 
recess occupied by other figures, also seated, but 
less richly embalmed ; these are the relatives, the 
friends, the faithful followers, and favoured ser- 
vants of the monarch. Each is accompanied by 
an emblem of the functions which he performed 
when on earth. The bankers hold in their hands 
coffers of gold pieces; the peasants bear sheaves 
of the harvest; the warriors brandish the weapons 
of gold and silver with which they dispatched 
their enemies. 


200 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

Surrounded by this unheard-of magnificence, 
— in the midst of an illumination so dazzling 
that the eye aches and would seek shelter, — it is 
yet the mortal remains of the illustrious Manco- 
Capac that chiefly impresses and rivets the at- 
tention. 

Tall and straight, and firm as when in life, he 
sits beneath the Sun on his golden throne, whence 
he dominates the assembly; his feet rest on a 
footstool of chiselled silver. A robe of brocade 
envelopes his limbs, an aigrette of diamonds glit- 
ters in his long hair, and his eyes burn like those 
of a panther in the darkness, behind the golden 
mask which covers his face. 

On his left, slightly in the rear of the throne, 
his wife, Mama Oello-Huaco, stands in an at- 
titude of respectful attention. A long golden 
pin with a diamond head confines her hair, gath- 
ered in a knot at the nape of the neck; with one 
hand she holds the folds of her silken robe, and 
in the other she carries a fan with feathers and 
sticks of gold, wherewith to brush away any au- 
dacious insect which might dare to approach the 
face of her august spouse and master. 


THE SUBTERRANEAN TEMPLE 201 

It was impossible to behold without awe this 
spectacle, till now unseen by human eye. Ad- 
vancing through the cortege, which crowded with 
its various personages the steps of the throne, 
Papa-Capac threw himself at the feet of his An- 
cestor. 

“O my sovereign Father and Lord,” cried he : 
“behold me! prostrate before thee, with this 
young girl, whom the Priest of the Sun was about 
to immolate, and who was saved by the interpo- 
sition of heaven in a miraculous manner. If a 
human victim is required, I offer myself, in ex- 
piation of the sins of my race; take my life, — ac- 
cept it in place of hers. But, oh, great King! if 
I must die for my people, I, the last representa- 
tive of thy august family, — grant at least my 
one, last prayer, before I take my place here with 
my ancestors ! Grant that, like them, I may wear 
upon my breast the Sacred Emerald ! That thus 
I may be, — if only for a moment, — thy true and 
rightful Successor on the throne of Peru!” 

As he finished speaking, lightning-like flames 
flashed forth from the golden Sun, bathing the 


202 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

person of the dead monarch with overpowering 
splendour, in the midst of which the majestic 
figure was seen to slowly bend its august head. 

Papa-Capac, then taking the cold and shrink- 
ing fingers of the child in his own, led her to the 
foot of the throne. The fiery beams of the Sun 
glistened in myriad reflections on her golden 
hair, and her beautiful, wide-opened eyes shone 
like two living emeralds ! 

Full of pity for her unhappy God-father, she 
conquered the repugnance and horror, which she 
felt in approaching the dead Emperor. And in 
accordance with the ancient custom of Peru, she, 
as a suppliant, reached up and touched the chin 
of the monarch, a gesture which was supposed to 
imply a desire for his protection and favour. 

At her touch the jaws separated in a frightful 
grin, and on the withered and protruding tongue 
appeared the Sacred Emerald ! 


CHAPTER XXIV 


THE SUPREME EXPIATION 

Intoxicated with joy, Papa-Capac seized the 
jewel with a cry of triumph, and at once attached 
it to the golden chain which hung around his 
neck. But at the same instant a fearful clap of 
thunder rent in two the roof of the edifice; the 
heavy walls, shaken by tremendous earth-shocks, 
tottered on their foundations; the golden Sun 
was extinguished, and Papa-Capac and his God- 
child were lifted from the ground by a furious 
blast of wind, and carried, — they knew not how, 
— outside the royal Necropolis. 

It required some moments for them to collect 
their senses, and examine the spot to which they 
had been transported. 

Alas ! . . . Cruel as had been their previous 
sufferings, they were as nothing to the hideous 
reality that now confronted them. 

203 


204 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

Following these last earth-shocks, they found 
themselves isolated on a narrow pinnacle of rock, 
scarcely large enough to contain them. The 
peak, which afforded them a bare foothold, is- 
sued from the depths of a gigantic crevasse, 
which looked as if it might have been cut by a 
knife in the heart of the mountain, so smooth and 
even were its sides, and so free from seams or 
fissures. 

Three hundred feet above them floated a strip 
of blue sky, barely visible between the steep 
walls of the gorge; beneath them the white spray 
of boiling torrents rose continually in vast 
clouds. 

On the side of the mountain itself there was 
no chance of escape ; the narrow space on which 
they stood, huddled together and afraid to move, 
had no doubt at some former time formed part of 
an entrance to one of those subterranean gal- 
leries, or “Chinganas,” excavated by the ancient 
Peruvians on the flanks of the “cerros” or peaks, 
for the purpose of concealing their dead. 

But the opening to the Chingana was now 



IsSMIS 


_ 


'Sr* . 






INTOXICATED WITH JOY, PAPA-CAPAC SEIZED THE JEWEL WITH A CRY OF 

TRIUMPH 



THE SUPREME EXPIATION 20 $ 

blocked by enormous boulders, and these huge 
obstacles rendered flight in that direction impos- 
sible. 

They must die. Little Candida, exhausted by 
fatigue and lack of food, had not sufficient 
strength left to comprehend clearly their situa- 
tion. She had sunk down on the verge of the 
rock, her feet hanging listlessly over the abyss, 
and half unconsciously was singing to herself a 
little lullaby with which her mother used to put 
her to sleep. It was the lament of a Corsican 
child lost in the “maquis,” who was about to 
perish when found by its parents. 

Papa-Capac realized more fully their position, 
and, in consequence, his sufferings were more 
acute. The fatal Emerald had surely not 
brought him good fortune ! 

At times a ray of hope brightened him for a 
moment; at others he gazed fixedly down in the 
gulf, whose fearful depths seemed to have a 
dreadful attraction. 

A day passed. Hunger had ceased to distress 
Candida, but she was thirsty, and cried quietly 


206 the emerald OF THE INCAS 
to herself all night; the sound of her subdued 
weeping went to the heart of the Inca, who more 
than once leaned towards the brink of the preci- 
pice, with an impulse to put an end to the useless 
reproaches of his conscience. 

At last the day dawned. The blue sky, which 
seemed to promise deliverance, shone brightly 
overhead, while below the floods in the ravine 
roared with an ominous sound. 

Gentle in death as she had been in life, Can- 
dida made no complaints; and her silence was 
more distressing to the Inca than her tears had 
been. 

When the sun had reached its zenith, and its 
rays were sending golden shafts into the dark 
caverns below, Papa-Capac thought his little 
God-child’s last hour had arrived. 

With closed eyes, as if in a dream, and with a 
mysterious, ecstatic expression upon her lovely 
face, she was murmuring strange, incoherent 
words. 

“They are coming; I see them. It is Mama 
who is guiding them. Oh! how she hurries, 


THE SUPREME EXPIATION 207 

dear Mama! Papa is with them, too. They 
have long ropes, and long, long cords, — but will 
they be long enough*? Mama says ‘no — they 
must go and get others.’ ‘Will they be back in 
time T says Papa. Dear Papa . . . dear Mama ! 
How glad I will be to be with them once more !” 

A sort of swoon followed this dreamy condi- 
tion; but the child was not dying, for she seemed 
to breathe easily. At the end of an hour she 
suddenly awoke from sleep, and opening her 
eyes very widely, cried out : 

“God-father! . . . God-father! ... Be 
ready ! Papa and Mama are coming to find us !” 

The Inca sighed sadly; but as he raised his 
eyes to the opening above, he caught sight of the 
figures of men working rapidly and feverishly. 
Soon a beam was thrown across the chasm, and 
a rope suspended from it. At the same time he 
detected the sound of voices, to which he re- 
sponded by loud shouts. 

So, — after all, — Candida was right, and help 
was at hand! Hunger, thirst, fatigue, were all 
forgotten ! The blood once more coursed 


20S THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

through his veins, and he thought only of deliv- 
erance. 

It was slow in coming. At last, about four 
o’clock in the afternoon, an immense rope came 
slowly down, and, securely fastened to it by 
the arm-pits, his feet solidly supported by 
wooden braces, was Si-Sing. 

The Senora Bustamente, who was above with 
her husband, had herself desired to make this 
dangerous descent, but Si-Sing, whose courage 
knew no bounds, pleaded for the privilege. He 
was inclined to repent somewhat of his rashness 
when about half way down the frightful chasm, 
but the joy of the little girl on seeing him quite 
reconciled him to the perils he had encountered. 

When, not without difficulty, he had landed 
upon the little island of rock occupied by the 
refugees, he gave a grunt of satisfaction. 

Confucius says, “None but a fool will descend 
to the bottom of a gulf if he can remain on firm 
ground!’' . . . and, as usual, Si-Sing shared, at 
least in theory, the views of the eminent philoso- 
pher. 



SOON A BEAM WAS THROWN ACROSS THE CHASM, AND A ROPE SUSPENDED FROM IT 








THE SUPREME EXPIATION 209 

It was indeed a hazardous excursion that Can- 
dida was about to make with her old Si-Sing; but 
when she remembered that her Papa and Mama 
were waiting for her up above, she hesitated no 
longer, and, tightly strapped to Si-Sing, she 
commenced the ascent. 

Papa-Capac was left, for the present, as the 
rope was not thought capable of sustaining the 
weight of three persons. 

With what precautions did the rescuers work 
at their task! One false or careless movement 
might cause a catastrophe! But at last Si-Sing 
and his little charge reached in safety the light 
of day, and Candida fell, weeping with joy, into 
the arms of her parents. Her misfortunes were 
ended ! 

Already the shadows of twilight were creeping 
with their violet veils through the Sierra, and 
the darkness of midnight already reigned in the 
depths of the gorge where the Inca remained 
alone, waiting patiently for rescue. In the dark- 
ness and silence he had time to review his past 
with its sins and its failures, its weakness and 


210 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

inability to adhere to the good resolutions, which 
from time to time he had formed, only to aban- 
don them at the first impulse of temptation. 
Even the prospect of safety could scarcely be con- 
templated without anguish; for he was only too 
well aware that, Inca as he was, and possessed at 
last of the Sacred Emerald, he would at once 
upon reaching the summit where his deliverers 
were at work be regarded by them only as a com- 
mon rebel. How could he find strength to sup- 
port the humiliations in store for him, and the 
hardships reserved for his unfortunate people 1 ? 

But the instinct of life is strong, and he re- 
solved to grasp firmly the cord which was now 
being lowered to him. 

The strain of the pull upward was long and 
severe. When within about sixty feet of the 
opening, those who were leaning over and light- 
ing up the dark abyss with torches, beheld his 
features suddenly become convulsed, — and then 
rigid. A gigantic Bird, whose huge wings could 
hardly find room to spread themselves in the nar- 
row gorge, was seen to rush upon the Inca with 


THE SUPREME EXPIATION 211 

outstretched beak. By the wild glare of the 
torches, Papa-Capac had recognized it ... it 
it was the Royal Condor . 

In helpless terror, he clutched the rope to keep 
himself from falling, while those above, in fran- 
tic haste, redoubled their efforts. It was in vain. 
The Bird, executor of the Gods’ decrees, pounced 
on the unfortunate monarch, and transfixed him 
with its fierce claws. With one blow he splin- 
tered the Sacred Emerald, and drove his iron 
beak deep into the heart of the Inca. 

Papa-Capac relaxed his hold upon the rope, 
and fell like an arrow more than a thousand feet, 
down, onto the rocky bed of the boiling waters 
below. The life of the last Inca was ended. 


EPILOGUE 


A few words will suffice to relate what had 
happened. The Peruvian Government, on being 
informed of the conspiracy and rebellion of the 
Inca, Papa-Capac, at once despatched troops to 
quell the disturbance, and disperse the rebels. 
Colonel Bustamente, in consequence of his fa- 
miliarity of the Sierra, was placed in command 
of the force. 

He arrived just in time to complete the work 
of punishment, so well begun by his wife. It is 
easy to imagine his distress on learning of the dis- 
appearance of his idolized little daughter. 

In desperation, he searched the mountains for 
two days and nights, exploring every nook and 
crevasse of the Quebrada; and it was finally ow- 
ing to the assistance of Si-Sing’s keen slant 
eyes that the little girl was discovered more than 
five leagues distant from the locality where she 
had come so near falling a victim to the ancient 
Gods of Peru ! 


212 


EPILOGUE 213 

We know the rest. The two principal leaders 
of the revolt, Iri-Yaqui and Papa-Capac, being 
dead, it was thought not only unnecessary, but 
under the circumstances, undesirable, to deal 
harshly with the subordinates. Harrassed by 
Chili, her Capital menaced, Peru certainly 
needed to preserve peace and quiet within her 
own border; the rebellion was, therefore, kept 
secret, and so strict was the censorship of the 
Government that not a newspaper in Europe 
learned of the events we have narrated. 

Some of the Indians, who had followed Papa- 
Capac, were allowed to drift quietly back to their 
villages in the remote fastnesses of the moun- 
tains, and others were received back into the 
yards and workshops where they had formerly 
been employed. 

The gentle Tapou-Tambou, ex-grand judge 
and ex-general of the Indian army, found him- 
self compelled, much against his will, to once 
more take up his pick and shovel. ... At pres- 
ent, the work being completed and the road in 
operation, he is conductor on a train, — a con- 


214 THE EMERALD OF THE INCAS 

genial position, which enables him to hustle and 
insult the passengers who for the moment chance 
to be at his mercy. 

Colonel Bustamente kept the promise made by 
his wife to the Chinese; all the survivors of the 
great war were restored to their own country, 
with the exception of Chao-Tung, who remained 
in Tarayaqui, and was employed by the town as 
a street-sweeper. 

Si-Sing refused to leave his employers. He 
had become, as it were, a member of the family, 
and accompanied them to Europe. 

The Senora Bustamente had acquired a hor- 
ror of the Sierra, — a feeling that was fully shared 
by her daughter. They now live in Paris, where 
Colonel Bustamente, who has resigned his com- 
mission in the Peruvian army, is able to pursue 
the scientific studies of which he is so fond. 

Candida is now a young lady. Tall, slender 
and graceful, always gentle and charming in 
manner, her beautiful eyes and her superb golden 
hair create a sensation wherever she appears. 
She has retained from the trials of the past a 


EPILOGUE 215 

trace of sadness, which, at times, causes anxiety 
to her parents. And one of her great pleasures 
when alone with Si-Sing is to lead the conversa- 
sation to her unfortunate God-father, the Inca. 

Si-Sing, who has once more grown plump, and 
has recovered his umbrella and his queue, listens 
with gravity, shakes his head solemnly, and in- 
variably replies by quoting his favourite Con- 
fucius : 

“ Mourning will not bring a Dead Man to 
life ” . . . and: 

“ Ancient Dynasties are like Old Trees whose 
roots have grown dry , — even if watered with 
human blood , they will not bear leaves again !” 
















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